


I Know You Know I Know

by caristia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst and Humor, Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Canon Typical Violence, Denial, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Other, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Scenting, Sciles, Slow Build, The Alpha Pack, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, alpha pack, alpha!Scott, and pancakes, angsty, best friends turning lovers, btw this is NO Scott needs Allison-substitute and Stiles needs a someone, lots of feelings, oh did I mention there shall be plot, oh did I mention there shall be po--mmhnnghhgnnppff, okay no I'll stop tagging shhh, okay no for real I am shutting up, someone take my keyboard away from me nOW, ugh I don't wanna tag too much I don't wanna spoiler omg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caristia/pseuds/caristia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've adapted well."</p><p>Stiles observes pausing mid-changing to glance at his best friend. It sounds like a statement, his voice flat. Still, Scott recognises that tone, recognises Stiles' uneasiness in his shifting stance, his flickering gaze. Recognises the way Stiles wets his lips and sucks them in to keep the words from spilling; an unexpected mesmerising display. Scott feels as if his vision is zooming in but he still manages to raise his brows accompanied by slightly widened eyes in response to Stiles' declaration. Or in response to how he cannot rip his gaze off that spit shiny mouth, he wouldn't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to Tyler Posey, mwahaa :)

"You've adapted well."

Stiles observes, pausing mid-changing to glance at his best friend. It sounds like a statement, his voice flat. 

Still, Scott recognises that tone, recognises Stiles' uneasiness in his shifting stance, his flickering gaze. Recognises the way Stiles wets his lips and sucks them in to keep the words from spilling – an unexpectedly mesmerising display. 

Scott feels as if his vision is zooming in but he still manages to raise his brows, accompanied by slightly widened eyes, in response to Stiles' declaration. Or in response to how he cannot rip his gaze off that spit shiny mouth, he couldn’t say.

Stiles stills, taking a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering as he dips his chin. He sighs. A small noise, so disappointed, so forlorn, that it tugs harshly at something in Scott's chest.

"Or so I would guess since you've pretty much avoided me since it happened. And I know, dude, I mean, actually I do  _ not know _ but at least I guess I can understand that you need your space but you've just– you've abandoned me, man, and that's just not okay. I gave you your space but it's been over a month and you just cannot do that, Scott. I cannot do that. I cannot abandon you. I am physically incapable of doing so. So here I am. Finally caught you." He claps his hands together and spreads his arm wide, taking in the empty locker room with his gesture. 

Scott blinks and realises belatedly that he's been so distracted he actually did not notice that the two of them are the  _ only ones  _ left. Someone had even turned off the lamps already, leaving them standing in a dim twilight. Dammit, he wants to kick himself for zoning out. Scott frowns unhappily at the shirt in his hand. He'd been so lost in listening to Stiles' erratic heartbeat calming down after practice, in the intense smells occupying the room, lost in the sweaty, fruity-cinnamon odour that is Stiles’ that – that he hadn't even gotten very far with changing. Shit. He still does not have a very good grip on his  _ heightened _ heightened senses. "Uh," he finally expresses, dumbfounded.

Stiles’ lips are parted in a way that Scott cannot decide if it's his usual open-mouth-syndrome or if he's actually at a loss for words. Wait. Stiles at a loss for words? No, that can't be right. Most likely he's simply collecting a whole parade of words in his head to let them rain down upon Scott any minute now. His parted lips and the soft, too soft breathing passing through them are just the calm before the storm.

There's a crease between Stiles' brows as he scans Scott's face, contemplating. The tan skinned teenager is currently delivering him an alarmingly blank face. It kind of reminds Stiles of Derek. Is that an Alpha thing then? The inability to use your facial muscles for anything more than eyebrow communication? That would be bad because Scott does not have as surprisingly expressive eyebrows as a certain other Alpha wolf does. Would that make communicating with his Beta wolves a problem for Scott then?

 

_ "Sorry, boss, I think I misinterpreted your last order as 'throw the pizza delivery boy into the dumpster' rather than 'dump the cash into the pizza delivery boy's …' –  wait, what?"  _

_ Scott sighs, the sigh rumbling growly in his chest as he strokes a thoughtful finger over his manly Alpha moustache.  _

_ "Franky." His voice is quiet, husky. "You're going to retake those evening courses. Your Eyebrow-ish is inacceptable for my right foot man."  _ Because Stiles would totally be both Scott's hand men because he's just awesome like that.

 

As he starts thinking about it, are  _ these  _ Alpha things as well? The less words the merrier? The keeping to yourself? And intense staring?  _ Hello, my eyes are up here, wolfy! _ Stiles frowns even more. The higher you climb up the werewolf ladder the weirder you become, it seems.  

But he shouldn't draw hasty conclusions. It's only been a month. No need to freak out. Scott hasn't turned anyone. At least as far as Stiles knows. He hasn't turned anyone, has he?! Nah, of course not. Scott is still Scott. Even if he is missing his sheepish puppy expressions. Even if he's missing Stiles as his constant companion. God, this is seriously depressing. They  _ really _ need to have that talk,  _ now _ .

Stiles blinks back to reality. While he'd gotten lost in his rapid thought processes Scott had taken time by the forelock and hurriedly changed. Stiles thinks he can recognise something fond and amused in his friend's chocolate coloured depths. He can also recognise the apologetic stance of Scott's eyebrows (oh, there we go! Take that, Franky!). 

Stiles rubs a hand over his face. "Are you seriously going to run out on me now? You asked for time. I gave you–   _ Scott! _ " 

Scott flinches slightly at the exasperated squawk that is his name but he doesn't stop slowly backing off. He has already almost reached the door.

"You  _ seriously _ –  what is going on with you?! I am worried about you here!" Stiles takes a step forward, hands balled into fists, his knuckles shining white. This isn't the first reconciliation gone wrong. Not that they'd actually need a reconciliation because they didn't even  _ have _ an argument or anything. They were just taking a break. They still are. And Stiles doesn't know why. "Seriously, I  _ know _ you know that I know you! And I know that something's  _ wrong _ ! And I know that we need to talk about it! And I know you know that I can help you! I can help you fix this!" He is flailing with his arms, gesturing wildly. 

Scott has stopped in the doorway, the yellowish glow of the hallway's lamp illuminating him from behind so that all Stiles can make out is his silhouette, his face shrouded.

"Scott." Stiles voice sounds pained, pleading. 

Scott's oversensitive nose is hit by the off-putting scent cocktail of negative emotions he has reduced Stiles to. There's another pang in his chest.

"I am sorry." He mumbles. "I just– all I need is time, Stiles."

"Well, time certainly isn't doing it for you! That's why it's  _ time _ for you stop all that avoidance shit, right  _ here _ and  _ now _ , buddy!" 

Stiles is angry. Stiles is hurting. The wolf inside Scott's ribcage whines wanting to comfort what is his. Comfort the pack. Reassure the mate. 

"You don't have to do this on your own! Whatever it is ... I don't–" Stiles inhales shakily. 

Scott's fingers are clawing into the door frame, the wood creaking. 

"I don't  _ want _ you to do this on your own. We're ... we're brothers, man." Stiles shakes his head, his shoulders slumped, voice small. 

Scott grits his teeth, squints his eyes shut, needing every ounce of his self-control to keep from pouncing the fragile, lost looking boy in the dim lit locker room. " _ Brothers. _ " He repeats breathlessly. 

Stiles lifts his head in an abrupt motion."Yes," he replies softly, his caramel eyes big and wide, almost deer-like. 

Scott can see him perfectly clear in the rapidly darkening room. He'd be able to see him perfectly clear, trace every mole on his face with his eyes, even without the hallway lights throwing a faint glow onto his frame. His best friend's face is open,  _ hopeful  _ and _ so _ vulnerable.

Scott knows there is something deeply wrong. Maybe it's been that way before the Alpha Pack ran over their territory. Scott doesn't know. He can't remember. He can't concentrate. 

He inhales deeply, Stiles' scent flooding his nostrils. He knows it got ten or rather ten  _ thousand _ times worse after the Alpha Pack troubles were done. He knows–  Stiles inhales sharply, staring at his face with a concerned expression. 

" _ Scott–! _ " 

The werewolf blinks rapidly, scarlet flashing in the dark. "It's nothing", he stutters, "it's just so ...” He pauses, searching for a word. “...  _ overwhelming _ ." And with that he hold his breath and turns on his heels and takes off with supernatural werewolf speed. 

Leaving an open-mouthed Stiles gaping at an empty doorway until he turns and kicks one of the benches, hurting himself in the process. He whelps, falling onto one knee to press the heel of a hand down onto his pulsing toes.

"Well,  _ fuck _ ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I never thought my first Teen Wolf fanfiction would be anything else than Sterek.  
> But just look what happened. I blame brumous' amazing Sciles picture. [( × )](http://caristia.tumblr.com/post/33655958902/caristia-brumous-alpha-scott-making-out-with)  
> It woke hidden Sciles feelings in me and inspiration hit me hard.
> 
> Can't wait to see where this journey is going to take us ... (also maybe indulging into other TW ships might be kind of healthy, mwahaha ~~or not~~ ).  
> Kudos & Comments would be lovely~ ♥
> 
> The Amazing [Azur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAzureAegis/) is helping me out with proofreading~ thank you so much!


	2. Dad Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Chapter 1 was an opener I quite enjoyed, here comes the first chapter to also contain some flashbacks. I will work with flashbacks throughout the entire story, to reveal what has happened paired with what is happening bit by bit. :)
> 
> The first flashback is of the same day of the dinner, the rest is set two weeks after the season 2 finale. I think this will be the earliest flashback, from this point on we'll go gradually forward in time, flashback by flashback, until we reach the present. ~~I am not promising anything though, I might jump with the flashbacks and I really should stop trying to explain them asdfghkdfl~~
> 
> Flashbacks are written in past tense and also recognisable by how they're placed.
> 
> Anyway, I thought we might as well just dive right in! By which I mean I am pushing you into the cold water. ~~Only not really.~~

"So, what's going on between you and Scott?"

  
Stiles slightly lifts his head from his arm which he has sprawled across the dinner table. The poking movement of his fork shortly pauses before it resumes and then he starts to mash the broccoli on his plate into a brorée (broccoli purée) of various shades and hues of green.  _ Bro _ rée. Heh, how about creating a whole bro-themed meal? During their bro-time, to strengthen the brond (bro-bond) and to finally get Scott better acquainted with a kitchen and its uses. Seriously, that guy is seventeen and totally incapable of feeding himself aside from with cavity inducing sweets and fast food microwave meals. And wow, Stiles is seriously broprived (bro-deprived). Also, knowing Scott, he'd be totally in favour of something as adorably embarrassing as brorée and its other healthy, nutritious bros. If he'd know about it. Which he doesn't because apparently he has taken not talking to Stiles to a new height. Such heights, that not only the student body has noticed what is going on by now.

 

> "Stilinski!" Stiles jumped on his chair, reflexively hunching up his shoulders. He lifted his gaze from boring death glares into the back of Scott's skull a few rows in front, to be confronted with Mr Harris standing worryingly close to his desk, tapping an impatient foot. 
> 
> “Care to join me in our  _ delightful  _ past-time activity, also known as  _ detention _ ?” Every word was laced and carefully articulated with disgust and spite. 
> 
> Mr Harris also managed, besides annoying him to no end, to make Stiles feel sick to the stomach with just one simple question. This so-called teacher never ceases to creep him out. “Since Mister McCall here finally recognised befriending with you does the stabilisation of his  _ newfound _ popularity no good–”
> 
> Stiles gritted his teeth staring stubbornly straight ahead at the blackboard. 
> 
> “I am sure I am doing you a favour since I guess detention is the only thing remotely comparable to social activity you get these days.” Mr Harris narrowed his eyes and sighed exasperatedly, then turned and proceeded to slowly walk back to the front. “Also you'll find time to catch up on today's subject matter, to which you paid no attention to.  _ At all. _ ” 
> 
> Stiles nearly bit his cheek to keep himself from arguing. He knew it was useless, it would only result in him getting even more detention – which would be equivalent to having to spend even more time  _ alone  _ with his Chemistry teacher. Still, god. This was so fucking unfair. Mr Harris is reaching new levels of Creepy Asshole™ and Scott did not even react in anyway  _ at all _ . Stiles buried his face in his arms and missed the twitch of Scott's head as Mr Harris passed his seat.
> 
> While Stiles drew invisible lines on the top of the table with his fingertip, Scott involuntarily scraped the wood of the underside of his, leaving it with visible claw marks. 
> 
> Both could not wait for Chemistry to end. 
> 
> Behind their backs, studying Scott's tense and Stiles' slumped set of shoulders, the two members of the Hale pack exchanged glances. 
> 
>  

Having lost all appetite after reminiscing his school day paired with not having been very hungry in the first place, Stiles lets his fork clatter into the green pulp at the same time his father clears his throat. 

He fixates Stiles with a knowing look across the table. Oh right, he had asked him something. 

"Uh, what did you say?" 

Sheriff Stilinski sets his fork neatly down beside his plate. "I asked why I've been missing the sight of your unofficial foster brother for as long as ... I have been." He takes a gulp of water, setting the glass down with a clonk. He frowns, visibly lost in memories. "I think this is actually the longest time I've seen you two being  _ this …  _ uh,  _ seperated _ since we moved here." 

Since they had first met and their friendshiphad  instantly and intensely flared up. 

Stiles finds the light reflections in his dad's glass to be very interesting. "Not true." 

John raises his eyebrows questioningly. Stiles sighs, sinking down his chair. "This isn't the first time. This is nothing new. Scott's been distracted. Since Allison. He still is." 

"But they broke up and she moved away. Quite far, as I heard." 

Stiles shrugs, a hot-cold emotion of  _ something _ gnawing at his gut. "Doesn't stop Scott from wallowing. He's waiting,” he emphasises the 'waiting' with air quotes, “for her, and–  _ and _ he won't talk to me." The last part of his sentence comes out a bit quiet because his throat suddenly feels constricted. 

Of course Allison isn't the reason for Scott's weird behaviour. At least not entirely. But it's a good excuse to be able to more or less (un)willingly discuss this with his dad. 

His dad seems put off. "But why? He seemed to be doing fine until …" He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. "Does he– does he suddenly think some of this is _your_ _fault_?" The sheriff looks scandalised. "I mean, you didn't have anything to do with it ... Right?" 

Stiles scoffs. " _ Dad!  _ Of course not!" 

John lifts his hands, pursing his lips, only a slightly amused twinkle to his eyes. "Alright, son. Sorry."

 

> “She's gone.”
> 
> Stiles threw his backpack into a corner of his room and sat down next to Scott on the bed, the mattress dipping, their knees touching. 
> 
> “I know,” Scott replied quietly. 
> 
> “I mean, wow, she's really  _ gone _ . It's barely been three days and the Argents just– phhh!” Stiles made a whooshing noise and discarding gesture with his hand. 
> 
> “I know,” Scott replied tiredly. 
> 
> His buzzhead friend back-pedalled, a shocked and ashamed expression on his face. “Oh shit,  _ Scott _ – sorry, I … are you okay?” 
> 
> Scott was hunched forward, elbows on his knees, face hidden behind dark locks of hair. He slowly leaned back and then turned his head to face him for the first time since Stiles had entered the room. 

 

Stiles sighs again. He feels awful. "I don't know, okay. He's just– he's being unreasonable." 

The sheriff sighs too, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Okay, Stiles, look. I don't know what's going on and you don't seem to either, so ..." He trails off and Stiles guiltily wonders if his dad is thinking about how this might be one of the few times that Stiles actually  _ really  _ does _ not _ know what's going on (in one way or another) when he says so. 

Stiles feels his shoulder sag even further. He's been lying to his dad for so long now, he cannot even remember how it is to be honest with him and they both know it.  _ But it's to protect him _ , Stiles tells himself as he settles his forehead into his palm and stares at the wooden table top. And this isn't about this. 

His father seems to have come to the same conclusion because he resumes speaking. "So, you've always been the brain. The ... the–" His dad is gesturing with his hand and ... is he trying to give Stiles a motivational speech? "The _ aggressor _ in this relationship! So maybe, maybe Scott needs not only a push– because I'm pretty sure you already tried everything within your rights to get through to him – maybe you have to be even more pushy and ... uh, aggressive." His dad stops and frowns, obviously not pleased with his improvised wording. 

Stiles cannot help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

"God, what did I just– what I meant to say was–" 

Stiles has sat up straight and beams at his dad, chuckling lightly as he waves a hand. "I get it. I get it, dad! I won't try to beat him up." Wouldn't want to challenge the alpha's authority. Plus, it would be such an unfair fight – for Scott. Because he wouldn't fight back. Though Stiles is sure he would not be able to inflict much pain on the superfasthealing werewolf either way nor does he even  _ want _ to and ...he wouldn't fight back, would he? Even with Allison gone he's been very grounded,  _ anchored _ . Stiles has to admit that Scott has actually always been such a surprisingly well and fast learner with the werewolf stuff altogether. And still. Maybe with the recent level-up, the  _ wereladder-up _ , something changed? Something along the lines that maybe with the alpha status he is kind of back to zero and has to relearn certain skills and abilities? Scott's new condition mustn't be underestimated. The thought is kind of frightening. Stiles is  _ so _ done with nearly being murdered by his best friend, thank you very much. His father is staring at him again, something calculating in his gaze. His teenaged son doesn't falter and returns the look. His mind racing. They sit in silence for a few minutes. Then a small smile weasels onto Stiles' lips. "Anyway. Thanks, dad. I appreciate your concern and input, I really do and ... I'll try to change my tactics to something more drastic." 

His father opens his mouth as if wants to object, worry lines on his forehead. 

"Something more  _ direct _ ", Stiles hastily rephrases, "so that he won't be able to avoid the confrontation with me any longer. Or rather, the confrontation with his problem, because I am not the problem." 

 

> In the glow of the evening sun shining lazily through his windows Stiles stared at Scott's face, frozen. His eyes were swollen and red, his cheeks covered in dried tears, his chapped lips quivering. 
> 
> “ _ Oh, buddy _ ”, Stiles voice was a barely audible whisper, his chest feeling like it was being crushed by a turmoil of emotions. He threw his arms around Scott's frame and pulled him close. 
> 
> Scott let out a choked sob that sounded a lot like Stiles' name before he buried his head in Stiles' chest. 
> 
> “Shh, it's alright, Scott. It's gonna be alright.” The werewolf was clinging to him so tightly that it hurt like a bitch but Stiles ignored it, ruffling his friend's mop of hair or stroking his back in long, calming motions. 
> 
> Scott cried like a baby, unable to speak even one consecutive sentence without interrupting himself with sobs and hiccups, so he didn't. Stiles held on to him the whole time, whispering sweet nothings and empty promises of better, happier days and jokingly speculating if werewolf snot had any special powers.
> 
> And he was so angry with the world, with himself, felt guilty for forcibly dragging Scott into this cruel, dangerous mess. It hadn't been on purpose. How could they have known? But now they had to deal with the aftermath. Would always have to. He was bitter to be so helpless, to have Scott lying in his arms, heart broken and trembling and there was nothing he could do to make it easier, any less painful, except to be there for him.
> 
> Excessive werewolf crying was obviously exhausting for all involved parties because the next thing Stiles knew he was blinking awake in a pitch black room, feeling one of Scott's elbows painfully poking into his side. Stiles moved his friend's limb to be comfortable again and he realised how helplessly entangled they were, Scott stubbornly snuggling as close as he physically could. 
> 
> “You still got me,” Stiles sighed, reassuring Scott's sleeping form although he was already nodding off again. “...'m not gonna leave you behind.  _ Ever _ .”

 

_ I am not the problem _ . He repeats in his head as he climbs the stairs to his room.

But that he feels like he's losing Scott, that he starts doubting his best friend, knows that he feels helpless and abandoned in a way that makes his breathing flatten,  _ that _ . That is a problem.

Once he has closed the door he flips out his phone without thinking, unlocks and scrolls through his contacts to the letter 'D'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I am pretty sure I had something I wanted to add here but I forgot ... so. Til next chapter!
> 
> **EDIT:** So I actually sat down and finally drew up some timelines for this fic. Hopefully you can read them, hopefully it does not confuse you even more and hopefully I didn't forget anything vital: [timeline for chapter 1+2](http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/345/0/b/ffchap1a2_by_caristia-d5nrg4u.png) (and yes the **-?-** stands for that _you_ do not know yet how much time lays between the happenings of the past and the 'PRESENT')


	3. Derek Knows

“He's being weird.”  
  
Derek looks up from where he is busy installing a freezer. An actual _freezer_.

“Who?” He asks calmly, slowly getting up out of his crouched stance and wiping his palms on the fabric covering his thighs.

The freezer is about Erica's height. The door is open and it shows inbuilt shelves with extractable drawers.

“Scott.” Erica glances at Isaac standing next to her. His eyes shift from the freezer to Derek.

“And in turn, Stiles is being weird, too. Or rather, that guy is always weird.” Erica concludes.

A small smile tugs at Isaac's lips before he shakes his head and continues Erica's speech. “But he's _miserable_.”

The female beta quickly nods several times to emphasise what Isaac has said, making her blonde curls bounce off her shoulders. Derek raises a brow as he processes this new information. “And you're telling me this, because...?”

The two betas are silent for a heartbeat or two.

“Because,” Isaac's voice is soft but honest, “we care about them.”

Derek sighs, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Okay,” he offers, unperturbed. The other eyebrow slowly ascends on his forehead to join its bushy partner. “So you think _Scott_ is the problem?”

The pups exchange glances and then simultaneously nod. “We think so...” Isaac says, considering.

“Because he's being weird,” Derek deduces.

Erica chews on her lower lip and tilts her head. “Yes. Very weird.” She crosses her arms under her breasts, pushing them up and together in the process. “I've never seen one or the other _without the other_ like that in my whole school life.” She frowns. “I mean … especially with Allison gone and the Alpha pack done, it should all be back to normal, should it not?”

Derek clenches his jaw as he thinks.

“It's just not _normal_ for them to avoid each other like that.” Isaac comments sadly and then he pauses. “Or rather, that Scott avoids Stiles like that,” he adds with an unhappy face.

Derek lowers his eyebrows into his usual gloomy frown. “He avoids ... _his pack_ ?” The pups nod again. Their synchrony is almost eerie. If only they would always act like this when it _really_ mattered, too.

“Okay ... I'll talk to him,” he promises and the tension seems to bleed out of their stances a bit, relief flooding their faces.

“Thanks.” Erica quietly whispers before she quickly turns, a flash of blonde locks whipping the air as she hurries up the stairs. Isaac only gives him a lopsided smile, nodding once before he also turns to leave Derek to his freezer business. The alpha audibly inhales through his nose before he turns back to his work. He stares at the freezer in which no person is going to fit in, ever. _Well, at least not in one piece._ And no, he did not just go there. Derek shakes his head to himself as he finishes up.

×××

“So that's that.” Stiles elaborates.

“ _I see. You seem to be worrying._ ” The reply sounds.

The teen scratches his scalp nervously. “You see,” he sighs, “I think worrying is a tad bit understating the issue. The more I think about it, the more I start to _freak out_.”

“ _How about you come over? I'm sure we'll be able to figure something out_.”

“Yeah, thanks. I'm heading over right away. I'll be there in a few.”

Without waiting for a goodbye Stiles hangs up. He slips his phone back into his pocket, grabs his keys and storms out of his room. He clatters down the stairs. “I'll be back in a bit!” He calls to his dad who's watching television in the living room.

“Curfew's ten!” His father reminds him but Stiles is already out the front. The door slams shut.

×××

> ”So ... you wanna talk about it?”
> 
> When they had woken up the sheriff had long left for work and now they had the house to themselves. Stiles was standing in the kitchen with his mother's favourite apron on, a pancake sizzling in the frying pan, soon to join the others on the platter in the stove.
> 
> Scott was lifting his face out of his steaming mug of hot-chocolate-coffee-mix à la-Stiles. He didn't answer, just stared at Stiles' back blearily.
> 
> Scott's face felt swollen and kind of weirdly numb, but in reality it wasn't and he was sure his eyes still should've been red as tomatoes right about now, but yeah, they weren't ... perks of being a werewolf, he supposed. Although he wouldn't have minded looking as wrecked and miserable as he felt.
> 
> Scott was silent and Stiles finally chanced a look behind his back. Scott was staring at him and at the same time he wasn't. He seemed to be far away in his thoughts, or maybe still half-asleep.
> 
> “Or should I like … drop it? Let it sit?” He paused, blinking at the golden brown pancake. He turned it over. “Though you shouldn't like, let it sit _too_ long … that wouldn't be ... _good_ . So maybe we should talk about it. While the wound is still fresh. Better try to work it out now – at least a bit. It would be better than prodding at a closed wound later, only to open it again, making it _bleed_ … or maybe I should wait until it has crusted over? But maybe you need to talk so that it can even start to crust, to heal. Or maybe that's going to _be_ the healing, and –” Stiles groaned, exasperated at himself. “I really should stop with these horrible metaphors so early in the morning.”
> 
> Scott chuckled, an unexpectedly low sound, probably because they'd only woken up a little while ago. A light shiver tickled down Stiles’ neck and he scrubbed it with the hand not holding the spatula.
> 
> “Stiles, it's past noon.”
> 
> “It's too early, right? Oh god, I'm so sorry I started this– I just– I didn't know– I _don't_ know–” Stiles finally turned around, his eyes wide, both hands gripping the spatula tightly.
> 
> Scott's nose twitched and one corner of his mouth rose, a faint resemblance to his usual lopsided smile visible. “Stiles, the pancake.”
> 
> “ _Oh!_ ” Stiles turned in a fluid motion. He quickly whipped the pancake up and manoeuvred it into the stove to let it flop onto the others. He threw the stove closed again, reaching for the bowl with the liquid dough.
> 
> “It's fine. Just– Just give me a bit of time ... I don't feel like talking right about now.” Scott quietly offered.
> 
> Stiles stuttered in his movements. “Okay.” He answered simply, his tone light as he poured dough into the pan. “Well, then, it's bro-time now! _That_ is awesoooome!”

×××

The call ends and Derek takes his phone down from his ear to look at the screen, his lips a thin line, slowly twisting into an unhappy bow.

“Give me a rest.” He mutters under his breath, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes and head in one motion of utter annoyance. He gives the now fully functioning freezer one last once over before he heads upstairs, stuffing the phone back where it belongs.

“Boyd!” He calls, turning off the lights and shutting the door leading into the cellar. As he turns around he pauses since the tall, broad shouldered beta is already standing in front of him. He hadn't quite heard him sneaking up to him, his mind occupied with the Scott dilemma. Derek quirks an eyebrow. “Not bad.”

Boyd's lips twitch at the compliment. He looks pleased.

“I want you to take Erica and go shopping. You gotta refill the fridge _and_ you can finally indulge yourselves in buying all that deep frozen shit you always complain that you cannot buy because we have nowhere to put it. That, and _meat_.” He makes sure to emphasise the part about meat.

Boyd flashes him a brilliant grin and hums in a low voice. “Nice.”

Erica is already in the hallway, shrugging on her leather jacket. “C'mon, Veeern!” She whines playfully and Boyd's eyes narrow. “Errrrica.” He growls back as he turns to face her.

Derek just sighs, fighting the urge to facepalm. “Be responsible. And don't buy too much … unhealthy stuff and all.” He waves a hand, stepping into the living room. “Also, we're expecting a visitor.”

×××

> ”I like this.”
> 
> Scott announced disgustingly, since he was talking, smiling, and chewing all at the same time – a very big bite of hazelnut spread pancake in his mouth.  
>  His best friend made a face. “Eeew, Scott!” Stiles looked like he couldn't believe what he had to witness. “Seriously, dude! That's _gross_!”
> 
> Scott stopped chewing and questioned Stiles with an insecure gaze. “What?” He sounded small and hurt.
> 
> Stiles blinked at him, replaying the scene in his head. He groaned. “Scoooott, seriously? You're so _slow_ this morning!”
> 
> “Midday.” Scott muttered, frowning into the pancake pulp on his plate.
> 
> “I was talking about your _horrifyingly_ bad table manners!”
> 
> The werepuppy's face instantly lit up as comprehension dawned upon him. “Oh.” He replied softly. He lifted his chin and bestowed his trademark lopsided grin upon the other teen, nodding proudly to himself. “I see.”
> 
> “I like this, too,” Stiles remarked grabbing the maple syrup. “I missed this.” He busied himself steeping his own pancake in syrup. “ _So much_.” If his voice cracked a bit on that last part, Scott didn't comment on it.
> 
> “Me too.” He admitted instead, in a louder but still gentle voice, causing Stiles to look up. The look Scott met him with was one so full of honesty and fondness, maybe even a frail touch of _regret_ , that Stiles felt a switch go off and his insides were being flooded with a clutter of emotions. The one that was the most easy to identify was relief. Stiles felt as if something that had held his organs in a tight, hurtful knot over the past few weeks was loosening the lump, was finally leaving his system _now_ . It was freeing. Maybe it was a bit late. After all they had finished the kanima and Gerard The Crazy Ass Grandpa business two weeks ago. But here and now, that was Stiles and Scott, the inseparable duo, masters of pranks and (mostly accidental) chaos and destruction (caused by said pranks gone wrong). That was _them_ , readjusting. Maybe that had been the last puzzle piece. They would go back to normal. Actually, they were already on their merry way. Stiles took a deep breath, his eyelids fluttering shut. Everything was going to be alright, somehow.
> 
> “Dude,” his voice was weak but he didn't care, “I _feel_ the love, I really do.” He heard a chair scrape the floor and a second later he felt strong, warm arms embracing his frame tightly.
> 
> Scott pressed his face into Stiles' short hair and inhaled deeply. His best friend revelled in the hug since Scott had learnt his fair share of Stilinski approved Hugging. No, but seriously, this guy was a _natural_ hugger.
> 
> Stiles for his part was grinning widely, pressing back against the werewolf until said one decided kind of rasperrying _his skull_ was a good idea. The buzzhead puffed and blew until he managed to pry Scott off him. “Jesus! Stop!” He laughed. “Go and eat up your pancakes!”
> 
> “Yes, sir!”
> 
> Scott was digging into the pancakes at a worryingly pace, so Stiles felt obliged to hurry up chewing and eating so he'd still be able to get some more pancakes of his own before Scott demolished them all on his own.
> 
> He gulped down a bite of pancake with a sip of his sinfully tasty coffee and set the cup back on the table as he cleared his throat. “No, but seriously. We had enough supernatural bullshit for _a_ _lifetime_.”
> 
> Scott raised his brows at him and Stiles crinkled his nose. “I'm not talking about _you_ , buddy. I mean all that other stuff we had to deal with.”
> 
> At that Scott pursed his lips and nodded in understanding.
> 
> “So, starting now. We're gonna … we're gonna go back to living our life as before.”
> 
> Scott tilted his head. Stiles carried on.
> 
> “We're gonna concentrate on school ... I'll help you get your grades back up. And you'll ... you'll help me with lacrosse. Deal?”
> 
> “Deal.”
> 
> “And we're gonna have stay overs. Like before.”
> 
> “And play video games.”
> 
> “And study.”
> 
> “And watch movies.”
> 
> Between taking bites of their meal or, in Scott's case, _while_ taking bites of their meal they conversed about all the things they had done on their own, had forgotten to do, couldn't do, wouldn't do, wanted to do, considered wanting to do and … it felt familiar. It felt _good_. It felt normal. It felt safe.
> 
> “Wow, we have _so_ much to catch up on.”
> 
> Scott simply smiled at Stiles' disbelieving declaration.
> 
> “I'm so glad I have you,” he told his best friend earnestly, a grateful expression adorning his face.
> 
> “Me too,” Stiles answered, winking and then trying to snatch the last pancake off the platter.
> 
> It felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I want to thank the people leaving kudos and who subscribed, you make me smile! :)
> 
> Secondly, I'm open for suggestions about what Stiles and Scott are going to do/planning to do/wanting to do in their summerbreak as they're settling back into 'normal life'. So let me know in the comments, maybe your wish will be fulfilled!
> 
> So I think, that's all ... and just a secret: kudos and especially comments are _such_ an incentive for writers! ;) Also I am curious about your thoughts/opinions, so, bring it on!
> 
> **EDIT:** So I actually sat down and finally drew up some timelines for this fic. Hopefully you can read them, hopefully it does not confuse you even more and hopefully I didn't forget anything vital: [timeline for chapter 3](http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/345/1/f/ffchap3_by_caristia-d5nrgwn.png)


	4. They Didn't Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter plays completely in the past. There are flashbacks, too - they're not interconnected.  
> Thanks to Azur again for looking this over. <3
> 
> Enjoy!

> “You know, it’s been surprisingly quiet.”
> 
> “Don’t jinx it, Stiles.”
> 
> “I am not jinxing anything, I am just stating a fact!”
> 
> “We’re driving out to practice lacrosse.”
> 
> “Yeah, so?”
> 
> “Just stating a fact.”
> 
> Stiles frowned and actually took his gaze off the road to bestow Scott his best are-you-serious look.
> 
> “Stiles!” Scott chuckled and bumped his shoulder. His friend quickly turned his head.
> 
> “You know, Allison broke up with me.” And Scott had initiated an abrupt topic chance just as quickly. And unexpected.
> 
> Stiles grip tightened on the steering wheel. It’s barely been a few days since the AA incident.
> 
> “Uh, I know?”
> 
> “After the … what did you call it again? Ge.. Gero...”
> 
> “Geranima.”
> 
> “Right, after the Geranima fighting stuff. But I told her it was okay. I told her I would wait. I told her we were … fate.”
> 
> Stiles was silent for a few moments before he heavily exhaled. “Wow, way to go, Scott! It even rhymes a bit.”
> 
> Scott ignored his comment and went on. “You know, we talked again. The day they moved.”

 

“It's like he's basically living here." Stiles' father remarked during a quick makeshift breakfast.

Stiles was shovelling Fruity Loops cereals into his mouth, stuffing his cheeks in an almost comical way. His dad just watched him silently, keeping a straight face.

"Are you remembering to chew from time to time?" He asked, his amusement showing in the wrinkled corners of his eyes.

Stiles tilted his head, chewing and nodding in an exaggerated manner. As in so exaggerated, that he was letting his head snap down and back up with closed eyes, a lordly expression on his face. A trail of coloured milk trickled down from the corner of his pursed lips.  
  
Chocolatey depths followed the milk trail every step of its way until it got lost under the curve of Stiles' chin. Scott inhaled deeply in an inaudible kind of way.  
  
"And you told _me_ I had bad table manners!" He complained indignantly a second later.  
  
Both Stilinskis turned their heads to the McCall boy sat comfortably at their kitchen table.

"He did?" John questioned quizzically.

Scott nodded profoundly.

A scandalised Stiles tried to swallow the cereal pulp in his mouth all in one go because it was keeping him from defending his honour … which ended in a heavy coughing fit.

Scott refrained from clapping his back while he tried to restrain his laughter.

 

> The sheriff just sighed and leaned back in his chair, taking up the newspaper again to study it.  
>    
>    
>  Stiles was on the floor, heaving gasped breaths intertwined with groans of discomfort. He got up on his elbows. "Dude! What the _hell_ was that?”
> 
> Scott was crouched close to his body, hot palm settling gently on the back of his neck.
> 
> “I wouldn't have died from suffocating! But you nearly broke my _spine_ though!"
> 
> Scott’s eyes widened in shock. "I am _sorry!_ I ... I didn’t mean to – I was freaking out a bit?"
> 
> Stiles didn’t dignify that with an answer, mostly because he was concentrating on breathing and waiting for the blaring pain to ebb down.
> 
> “I’m so sorry, Stiles! It’s just these new powers are so … _new_ and I am just not … you wouldn’t stop coughing and your face was all…” Scott waved his hand in front of his face as if that would make things clearer.
> 
> The human sized were-puppy sounded _very_ distressed and so Stiles let himself be pulled up into a sitting position.
> 
> “Are you okay?” Scott effortlessly drew his friend close, onto his lap.
> 
> “Scott.” Stiles wriggled uncomfortably but Scott just tightened his embrace and buried his face into the back of Stiles’ neck. “I’m fine. I’m _fine_.”
> 
> “T’is scary”, Scott mumbled into his skin, distraught.
> 
> His friend had just freshly been turned into a werewolf and needed reassurance, help, _back up_.
> 
> And Stiles would give him that. That’s what best friends were there for. He patted Scott’s arm and began talking mindlessly about how everything was going to work out and what an awesome being Scott had become. In some ways, at least. Not all the werewolf-y ways were awesome. But he didn’t dwell on that.
> 
> All the while he could feel the erratic pace at which his heart was beating. He felt it pulsing in the hand-shaped bruises blossoming on his back.
> 
> It had been a while since they had been at such close, snuggly proximities. He just wasn’t used to it anymore. It was just the shock from before. The commotion. It wasn’t _Scott_.

 

Once Stiles regained control over his air pipe and downed a cup of coffee, his dad rested the newspaper back onto the table. He shook his head. “To get back to what I was talking about: I’m not saying that it is a bad thing.”

“That what is a bad thing?” Stiles asked, having gotten up to pour himself another cup.

“That I am ‘basically living here’.” Scott chipped in. Stiles swore he could see his tail wagging.

“Yes. I mean I’ve talked to Melissa and …” John paused thoughtfully.

Stiles sat down, a steaming hot cup of coffee in his hands, raising his brows at his father.

“And we approve of this.”

Stiles beamed at his dad, reaching for the milk. “Yeah and also have you _also_ heard that Scott aced his last test? I mean as much as Scott can ace tests.”

“Hey!” Scott threw in.

“No, seriously, I’m _so_ proud of him!”

Now it was Scott’s turn to beam.

Sheriff Stilinski chuckled. “I heard, I heard … so it seems you actually studied during those late night Xbox sessions.”

“We did!”

“Either way, we’re glad that you two have taken to sticking together again. Especially during times like these …” His dad exhaled portentously and lifted the newspaper, folding it open to reveal the headshots of two familiar faces.

Stiles and Scott gasped concurrently.

Beneath the bold letters of the major headline the faces of Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd stared back at them.

Stiles’ mind raced as Scott let his spoon clatter into his cereal bowl. What was happening? What had happened? Sure, they hadn’t seen the two of them in school the past few days but they hadn’t thought any of it. Thought it might have been a pack thing or something but …

“ _Oh._ ” Stiles voiced weakly.

The headline read ‘ **MISSING** ’.

×××

“What the hell is going on?!”

Scott demanded furiously after having kicked their way into the warehouse Derek and his gang – or what was left of it – were currently staying at. Scott was actually _snarling_ , his whole body an orgy of tensed muscles. He held his arms close to his sides, fingers spread widely, ending in sharp claws. He bared his teeth. The insides of the warehouse remained quiet and unmoving.

An angry Scott emanating such controlled rage and strength was a sight not to be missed. Stiles denied himself commenting on how weirdly turned on by this specific sight he was though (was he seriously developing a _werewolf kink_?!) since it didn’t seem appropriate.

Ripping his eyes and attention off his best friend Stiles turned to face the surprisingly, or rather, _un_ surprisingly emptiness of the storage building.

“What happened to Erica and Boyd?” He asked, his tone one of quiet fake-calmness.

“They left.” Derek answered, stepping out of the shadows causing Stiles to jump and Scott to spin around on his heels. His head was downcast as he glowered at them.

“What do you mean ‘they left’, they’re _missing!_ ” Scott exclaimed frantically.

Derek raised a single eyebrow in response before he closed his eyelids as if he had to collect himself. Finally he pressed out a verbal reply between his slightly pointy teeth.

“They left to join another pack.”

Scott stilled.

Stiles was pretty sure his own face was a cartoon-ish expression of disbelief and shock.

“I told you.”Isaac Lahey’s voice sounded from another part of the warehouse. He quickly strode over on his long legs to join their wolfy coffee party. “I told you the day before the lacrosse game that they were gonna leave.”

“But they got caught.” Stiles cut in, his eyes still wide, his body so tense it hurt.

Derek’s head snapped up. “What?!”

“You know, after the lacrosse game when _I_ was missing? I was down in the Argents’ basement and they were there too. Chuffed to the ceiling with electrocuting cables or something. I couldn’t get them out.”

Scott’s de-clawed hand was suddenly gently closing around his upper arm. Stiles didn’t acknowledge it, just stared back at Derek Hale’s face. The guy was pressing his lips into a thin line, his eyes wide and _feral_ as he exhaled heavily through his nose. He looked like he was gonna _murder_ someone.

“The Argents …” He growled inhumanly, his crimson eyes blazing.

“But they left Beacon Hills.” Isaac chimed in, his face suddenly so pale that Stiles was wondering if he was going to throw up.

“Two weeks ago.” Stiles added, starting to feel sick himself.

“You think they took ‘em with them?” Scott asked horror-stricken.

“Why didn’t you tell me _sooner_.” Derek barked, lunging at Stiles. Scott reacted instinctively and the two tumbled onto the concrete.

“I– I didn’t know!“ Stiles spluttered, “I thought you’d been reunited with them and they were just taking some time off school, I don’t even know I just – I was distracted and we didn’t talk and– and it’s not like _you_ ever tell _us_ anything!” He’d gotten beaten the shit out of him and then there had been the Geranima and things had been so _overwhelming_ and he had forgotten. He had _forgotten_? Stiles wanted to punch himself.

“They might be _dead!_ ” Derek snarled from below before sending Scott careening across the floor.

“ _No!_ ” Stiles objected, appalled. And there had been Scott and they had talked, but not about those things. About normal things, about non-mauling things. He had been distracted and _oh god_.

Derek was back on his feet and so was Scott. Isaac’s tall frame had moved in front of Stiles to … to _shield Stiles_?

Stiles tried to take deep breaths to calm down but failed. “But Scott, you said– You said Allison had said they were gonna hang up their guns why would they _keep them_ I mean, that makes no sense!“

“That’s true!” Scott growled, baring his fangs.

“Maybe we all have to calm down.” Isaac contributed, quietly. His hands shook, claws retracting. “And think.”

Scott stepped closer again, de-wolfing in the process. “I don’t think they … kept them.”

Derek interrupted him agitatedly. His eyes were still burning red. “But just now you asked if we thought that-“

“ _I know!_ I just ... sorry, okay, I was caught off guard by _this_!” Scott interrupted in turn, spreading his arms, an incredulous expression at this situation. Or rather, _his_ _life_.

“I don’t think they took them.” Stiles repeated for emphasis.

“Great!” Derek snapped, scrunching up his nose in disgust. At least the glaring red of his eyes was abating.

“What about … _the others_?” Isaac inquired tentatively.

At this Scott’s and Stiles’ heads snapped up.

“What _‘others’_?” Stiles asked.

“Who?” Scott asked.

“ _No_.” Derek answered.

“What do you mean ‘ _no_ ’?!” Stiles didn’t even leave Derek time to reply and it was not like he looked like he was going to anyway. “ _See!_ That’s what I meant when I said we do not communicate! Or rather, _you_ do not communicate! What _‘others’_ ? What others is he talking about? Who is there that would kidnap _two teenage werewolves_ , Jesus fucking Christ!”

“It’s none of your concern.”

Isaac parted his lips as if to _protest_ but Derek glared at him and he cowered, not literally, but his mouth did snap back shut.

“None of our concern?! Are you _fucking_ kidding me? After all we’ve been through – _together?_ ”

“I can’t trust you.” Derek simply stated, scrutinizing Scott with a blank gaze.

Stiles groaned. “We’re all going to _die_ because of your trust issues! We saved your ass _several_ times! I held you up in eight feet of water for _over two hours_ and Scott here! Scott saved _all_ our asses with his badass plan and I don’t see–“

“All I hear is you talking about _ass_.”

“That’s not the point! You are ridiculous! You have to tell us what you know! You cannot leave us unprepared. Also you lack brain _and_ research _and_ tactic _and_ social skills!”

As Stiles and Derek began to banter, or rather, as the incredulous Stiles began to distract the unapologetic Derek with a shower of insults, accusations and life advice, Scott silently communicated with Isaac. The tall beta nodded, barely noticeable and in turn one corner of Scott’s mouth lifted.

“Enough!” Derek roared and Stiles jerked back.

“We’re leaving.”

×××

The boys were back. John could hear the stomping of their feet in the entryway of the house. “Welcome home!” He called stepping out into the hallway. “I got us pizza!”

“ _Dad!_ ” Stiles moaned whereas Scott just clapped his hands excitedly, rushing into the kitchen. But only after Stiles had forced him to wash his hand he was allowed to sit down and dig in.

“I can only hope for you that you didn’t–“ Stiles reprimanded.

“One little piece.” His father admitted.

“ _Dad!_ ”

“Anyway, I was thinking, if you want I can help you move the mattress of the guestroom bed and put it into your room since Scott’s staying over seems to become more of a permanent fixture.”

Stiles and Scott stilled their pizza devouring simultaneously to exchange a look.

“Eh, no thank you. We’re good.”

The sheriff raised his brows. “You sure, son? I just thought your bed was a bit small and you’ve both grown quite a bit … you’re not thirteen anymore.”

“We’re good.” Scott shrugged.

The sheriff pursed his lips, eyebrows still raised. “Okay.” He stated, shrugging his shoulders as well and snatching a small piece of pizza before escaping back into the living room.

Stiles growled and Scott choked on his bite of pizza at the growl attempt.

They continued to wolf down the pizza and Stiles was beaming at Scott across the table and his best friend returned the look.

Because after that first night?

The snuggly, cuddly bed-sharing had totally become _a thing_.

And it was _good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everything was coherent. 
> 
> I am sorry if I confuse anyone with these flashbacks and jumping around I hope it's not a too confusing/annoying way to tell a story. ;)
> 
> Comments & Kudos would be lovely~
> 
> **EDIT:** So I actually sat down and finally drew up some timelines for this fic. Hopefully you can read them, hopefully it does not confuse you even more and hopefully I didn't forget anything vital: [timeline for chapter 4](http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/345/b/2/ffchap4_by_caristia-d5nrgzi.png)


	5. Dawn

“Well, this is awkward.”

Stiles woke at the sound of a hushed voice and the feeling of Scott’s fingers lazily rubbing the nape of his neck. Someone was standing in his bedroom. He lifted his cheek from the chest it had been resting on to blearily blink at the intruder. Stiles could make out a tall, slender silhouette but not much more. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark just yet and the light from outside was not much of a help either. “Who?” He croaked, confused.

“It’s Isaac.” Scott answered, sounding a tad amused.

Isaac scrubbed his neck and shifted uncomfortably. “Hey there.”

“It’s laaate, I was _asleep_ !” Stiles complained, letting his head slump back down to press his face into Scott’s warm chest. Scott chuckled, his fingers scuttling back up his neck. Stiles felt his face heating up and it was _not_ because of Scott’s werewolf temperature encroaching his skin. Still he felt a need to defend the compromising situation Isaac had found them in.

He mumbled into the cloth of Scott’s shirt at the same time Isaac took up speaking. “We’re puppy piling.”

“I’m sorry I was–“ Isaac stopped, slightly tilting his head. “ _Puppy piling_ ..?” He repeated hesitantly. And gosh, if he did not sound _curious_.

“Yeah, it’s a _pack_ thing.” Stiles shot back without thinking, wanting to end this embarrassing part as quickly as possible. The hand palming the back of his head twitched.

“A _pack thing_ ?” If what Stiles could recognise of Isaac’s face in the murkiness of his room was anything to go by, the young werewolf was sporting a rather _contemplative_ look.

“ _Yeaaah_ , so. What do you want?” Stiles replied gruffly and if Isaac’s shoulders hunched up a bit at his moodiness he only felt a little bit guilty about that.

“I went to Scott’s house first but no one was home ... so I figured he’d be here.” Isaac whispered, a bit daunted.

“He’s here to talk.” Scott explained helpfully.

“Ah!” Stiles commented brightly.

Scott gently eased Stiles off his chest before he propped himself up, eyes blazing honeygolden. “Aren’t you?”

Isaac reciprocated the gesture and nodded, lifting his chin. “Yes.”

Yawning and rubbing his face Stiles sat up, the comforter sliding off his shoulders. Scott got off the bed, stepping closer to the other werewolf. “So what are you going to tell us?” His demeanour was friendly but had a distinctive dominance to it that made Stiles’ mouth go dry.

Isaac chewed on his lips, dipping his head. He felt uncomfortable being here, obviously acting against his alpha’s will but he knew he was doing the right thing. They were the only two left since Derek’s crazy uncle had taken off with Jackson. And if the bits and pieces of information he had picked up were true, then they sure as hell could not face this alone.

“There are others coming … a pack. A pack of _alphas._ ”

Stiles who had been a fidgety ball of shuffling on the bed froze.

Scott made an abrupt movement, stepping forward while swaying back.

“ _What_ ? What does that mean?” Stiles gasped.  Scott just turned his back to Isaac as if to reassure himself that Stiles was still there, still okay. As if the message of a threat could’ve done something to him. _Scott, you’re being ridiculous_. Stiles thought but at the same time felt weirdly approving of his action.

“They left a graffiti on the old Hale manor in the woods … a warning.”

“ _Oh god_ ! A pack of alphas! Fucking _alphas_!” Stiles groaned into his hands. His heart rate had sped up and his scent had changed from sleepy contentment to anxious alarmism. But it wasn’t as if the two werewolves were feeling any different.

“That means they are _here_?” There was something frantic to Scott’s voice.

Isaac shrugged. “Derek thinks they’re gone for now but they’ll come back.”

“Well, what do they _want_?” Stiles’ hands were interlaced behind his neck and he still had a very incredulous look to his face if his persistently opened mouth was any indication.

“I … I am not quite sure. I think it’s about how there’s a new Alpha and newly turned werewolves and …” He trailed off, frowning. “I thought they were some kind of werewolf police, you know, but it seems they are just _bad news_.”

“Couldn’t they have waited until _after_ the summer break?” The buzzheaded teen complained, if only to override the gravity of the situation.

Scott reached up to pat Isaac’s shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “Whatever’s coming on to us, at least it won’t interfere with our studies if we can deal with it during break?” His voice was calm and there was his trademark lopsided smile on his face, even if it had a certain edge to it.

“Thanks for telling us, Isaac.”

×××

After Isaac excused himself they had promised to meet up again during daylight to exchange more information and brainstorm together. After, Scott stood in front of the opened window for a while, the light of the streetlamps catching in his eyes from time to time when the trees’ branches were swaying just the right way. It took some time until he crawled back into bed with Stiles. Stiles was already reclined into a horizontal position again but not asleep, how was he supposed to?! So with both of them lying on their sides and facing each other he noticed how the tips of their noses brushed as Scott got comfortable again.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“You okay?”

Stiles sighed, not wanting to lie and not knowing what to say either way. “I don’t know.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Not really. It’d been too good to be true to _not_ have shit coming our way.”

Scott snorted, before deeply breathing in the fresh breeze that was wafting inside the room through the still wide opened window.

“Let’s just sleep.”

“Yeah, but research ...”

“Of course. But _later_.”

Stiles was wide awake and w _orrying_ but as soon as Scott’s hand touched the side of the neck he felt calmer and suddenly the tiredness hit him like a train.  Nevertheless did Stiles notice how Scott did _not_ pull him back into his usual embrace and how he kept a considerate distance, in a way. He dozed off with a small frown on his face, unaware that golden eyes were watching him drift off.

 

> Scott was silent for a considerable amount of time. Stiles didn’t pressure him into talking and just concentrated on driving.
> 
> “It was ... we were ... uh.” Scott huffed, rubbing his face absently with his right hand while searching for words. “She came to say goodbye. And somehow it was so … so _final_ . She was so _sure_ of it.”
> 
> “She bid you farewell.” Stiles observed in a flat tone.
> 
> “Yeah …” Scott shook his head, burying his face into his hands. “But I know. I _know_ we belong together. I _know_ she loves me too!”
> 
> Scott abruptly straightened out of his slumped state and as Stiles glanced over to him he saw a determined expression harden on his best friend’s face.
> 
> “I _know_ we’re going to get back together, even if we’re miles apart now. That doesn’t change … that doesn’t change anything.”
> 
> Stiles felt his heart sink a bit. He had liked Allison. Really, he had truly grown fond of her during their time and little adventures they had spent together. And he knew how terrible and horrifying and traumatising an experience it was to lose a parent, to lose a beloved one … but in Stiles’ eyes that still didn’t excuse Allison’s behaviour. She’d given herself over to blind hatred and rage without even trying to set the facts straight first. He doubted to this day that Allison had actually known under what circumstances Derek had bitten her mother in self- or rather _pack_ -defense. She’d been so bitter and _hurt_ that she had put her friends on the line, her _boyfriend_ and also, maybe even innocent bystanders, who knew? But he didn’t want to contradict Scott just then, not when the wound was still so fresh, not when he was still so hung up on his first love. Stiles parked the jeep, pulling the key out of the ignition, throwing Scott, who had apparently been content with the silence lasting for the rest of the drive, a crooked smile. Stiles got out of his baby, shut the door. _First Love …_ the word tasted bitter on his mind’s tongue as he walked back to open the trunk to grab their lacrosse equipment.
> 
> “So you really think she’s gonna come back to you?”

 

Apparently the Alpha Pack hadn’t arrived during the night to camp outside their house because Stiles and Scott woke up to the alarm non-mauled, limbs still attached to where they belonged. Still Stiles was soaked in sweat and he struggled out from under the covers, detangling himself out of Scott’s familiar embrace that had returned in their sleep. He ran over to the open window to check the outsides for anything suspicious.

“Stiles, you heard Isaac. Derek doesn’t think that they’re _here_ right now.”

“Since when do you care about what Derek _thinks_?” Stiles snapped back, shutting the window with too much force and then nearly stumbling over his own feet as he rushed towards the door. He wanted to check the front door of the house for any strange graffiti. In the blink of an eye Scott was up and blocking his way by positioning his body in the doorframe.

“ _Stiles_ , calm down.” He murmured appeasingly. “You don’t want to worry your father by rumbling through the house like a madman this early in the morning.”

Stiles let go off the door handle with an exasperated huff.  “Oh my _god!_ What is happening?”

“You’re freaking out.” There was an entirely too smug grin on Scott’s face.

“ _Holy shit!_ That’s it! We’re done for! We switched roles! How is that possible?! How can you be so calm? Jesus, how could I even sleep!? Maybe we've been cursed! Maybe the Alpha Pack has a witch or something!" Stiles was spitting out words like a waterfall while faintheartedly drumming his fists against Scott’s torso for emphasis.   
  
“Jesus, Stiles!” Scott hushed him by planting a warm palm onto his blaring mouth and crowding him back into the room. He carefully closed the door. “We'll meet Isaac in school today and you could also take your laptop with you to start doing some research stuff in the library or something, _okay?_ ” He took his hand off Stiles' face when said one started to fervently nod.

Stiles eyed him, flapping his shirt which was still kind of sticking to his skin.

“ _How_ can you be so calm about it?”

“I'm not calm I'm just–  I don't even _know_ maybe when one of us freaking out the other automatically like ... balances stuff?”

Stiles blinked at Scott. “That's some deep shit, man. You make it sound like we are soulmates or something.”

“Well, we are a bit something like that... We're brothers from one another’s mothers ... _Uh_ , you know what I mean!"

“Yeah-hah.” Stiles turned quickly to the side, suddenly not wanting to look at Scott’s open and fond face anymore. He pulled the collar of his shirt up to his chin. “Gawd, I’m so _sweaty_ ! I must _stink_ to your nose! How could _you_ even sleep?”

Scott chuckled, walking over to the window and opening it again. “You don’t stink, Stiles.”

“I do not? Are you sure everything’s alright with your little werewolf snout?”

“I’m fine! You smell like _you_. And it’s pleasant.”

Stiles felt himself blush against his better judgement. “I’ll take that as a compliment then. My sweaty me smells _pleasant_ . Since when do you even use words like pleasant? _Jesus_.”

Scott gave him his best confused puppy face and frowned. “I use _words!_ ”

“Yeah, you do, buddy, you do.” And with these words and none else Stiles rushed out of the room to take a shower.

A few minutes later the sheriff stepped into the doorframe. “Everything alright, boys?” He was still wearing his uniform and looked exhausted. “I was downstairs and I heard a bang and voices. Can’t believe you’re already up without having me to drag you out of bed.” John raised an eyebrow as he side-eyed Scott who was busy gathering their school stuff and searching his pants.

“Oh, ‘s nothing, Stiles was just stumbling against furniture while he was searching for the bathroom … _half-asleep!_ ” Scott grinned at the sheriff reassuringly, waving his then found pants.

“I see.” Sheriff Stilinski shook his head slowly, a fond expression on his face. “I made you coffee. Tell Stiles I said hi. I’m off to bed.” He turned to walk down the hallway to his bedroom and then paused. “Have a nice day, Scott.”

“You, too! Have a _pleasant_ sleep!”

As Stiles’ dad snorted and headed off to catch up some much needed rest Scott realized the pants he was holding weren’t his own and Stiles was under the spray of the shower, thumping his forehead against the tiles.

×××

Isaac had been gone too long. He hadn’t expected to _not_ find Scott at his own home so the visit to the McCall’s had been in vain and cost him valuable time. When he finally returned to the desolate warehouse his alpha had been waiting for him already and snarled indignantly from somewhere, cloaked in the shadows. “You’ve gone to them, _didn’t you_.”

Isaac stopped in his tracks, clenching his fists tightly. The only light source was the still half opened sliding gate through which the beta had come. Not like they needed it to be able to see. The lanky werewolf studied the long shadow his body was throwing onto the concrete. He could hear his alpha bristling with anger. He closed his eyes and answered. “Yes.”

Derek growled and came lunging at him out of nowhere. A second later Isaac found himself pressed against the wall, a forearm pushing hard up against his throat, constricting his breathing. Derek’s left hand was clawing into his side, keeping him in place. Hot breath was grazing the boy’s striking features. Between gritted teeth Derek pressed out a question. “ _Why_.”

Isaac stared up at the older man, eyes wide in something akin to fear, his heart picking up speed. Derek could not only hear but _feel_ it from where their chests were nearly touching.

“I don’t wanna die.” Isaac eventually choked out and as if the words had burned him, Derek instantly released the young beta and stepped back. Isaac took a few gasping breaths, his hands scraping over the rough surface of the wall, searching for support as his knees buckled. “I’m _sorry_ , but we’re the only _two_ … your uncle took off with Jackson!”

“He’ll– _They_ ’ll come back.” Derek growled in return, even if he wasn’t too sure of it himself.

“Erica and Boyd are missing. And we don’t know what’s coming on to us _. Do we?_ ”

Derek was silent, frowning unhappily and fixing Isaac with a calculating gaze.

“I just thought – Scott’s a good guy, and Stiles too and, we could _do_ with a little backup! _Please_ … Derek.”

Isaac instinctively bared his neck, squinting his eyes shut.

Derek inhaled sharply and then silence stretched over the two of them. The alpha was the first to break it, with a low grunting sound. Then the young werewolf felt broad palms wrapping around his upper arms, pulling him back onto his feet.

“I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

Amazed at his victory Isaac laughed out in relief and before he could help himself he sprung forward and hugged Derek. It was short but efficient and it was a _hug_.

Derek went stiff. Isaac pulled back carefully, he had not lost his smile though. He gave Derek an apologetic shrug and decided to test his luck. “So … can we set up camp in my family house then?”

Derek recoiled, obviously taken aback by the suggestion.

“I’m not a fugitive anymore and neither have you been one for quite some time now … and it’s empty anyway, while people are trying to get done all that paperwork since I’m not legal yet and stuff … and actually they _expect_ me to live there for now and are regularly sending a guardian over there to check on me.”

Derek’s voice was hoarse. “I didn’t-” He hadn’t known any of it. He had been so preoccupied. Laura’s death, finding the murderer, Peter, becoming alpha, forming a pack, the kanima, the Argents, Peter again, Erica and Boyd leaving and then the Argents leaving and Peter running off with his newborn pup. Now the Alpha pack …

“It’s okay.” Isaac interrupted the down spiral Derek had wandered off on in his head. “I know it’s a lot. I mean, I do not really _know_  but I can … feel it. But you’re not alone. We’re _pack_.”

Derek lifted his chin from where it had sunken until it almost rested on his chest to look at Isaac. The young wolf returned his gaze without hesitation.

“Let’s go?”

The alpha just nodded and together they trotted out of the warehouse and into the night.

×××

“You know, I think I’m getting sick of Fruit Loops.”

Scott opened his mouth as if to protest but Stiles quickly placated him. “Not _entirely_ but just _for now_. How many packages did we empty over the course of the past few weeks?”

Scott snapped his mouth shut again, thinking. Then he chuckled. “I don’t know but lots of ‘em!”

“Yeah, that’s the point!”

×××

“We don’t have anything to eat here.” Isaac noted as he walked into the living room. He wasn’t worried to wake Derek since he’d known before he even descended the stairs that the alpha had already been alerted. He hadn’t moved from where he was stretched over the sofa though, a thin blanket covering his frame. “So, would you …” Isaac trailed off.  “Go grocery shopping today?”

Derek grunted noncommittally and rolled over.

×××

“You see, no matter what happens, we still got each other.” Scott pointed out as they cleared away the remains of their breakfast.

×××

“And I think, when we all get together and work as _a team_ , we’re gonna wangle it.” Isaac closed off his short impromptu morning speech. He scratched through the curly mop of hair on his head, chewing on his lips. Derek, who had just gotten up by now, shrugged his leather jacket on.

He offered his pup a gruff “I’ll drive you”.

Isaac quickly nodded and grabbed his school bag. As they went out the front door he alluded, batting his lashes: “I want Fruit Loops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by the Amazing Azur again!  
> Don't forget to leave Kudos and Comments ;)  
> If you haven't noticed, the flashback about Scott and Stiles in the jeep driving to practice lacrosse (that spun from last chapter to this one) ... yepp, it's supposed to be the 'prequel' to the closing scene of the season 2 finale.  
> So in my head and in this fic there has some time passed between _the Geranima and the Scallison break up_ scenes (both in the same night) and then the _Scott and Stiles practicing lacrosse AND Derek, Isaac and Peter finding the Alpha Pack graffiti_ scenes.
> 
> I am contemplating drawing up a timeline for you guys as the fic progresses, so that you can see all the bits and pieces of information I throw at you in their correct order, hehe.
> 
> **EDIT:** So I actually sat down and finally drew up some timelines for this fic. Hopefully you can read them, hopefully it does not confuse you even more and hopefully I didn't forget anything vital: [timeline for chapter 5](http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/342/1/1/timeline_for_fanfic4_by_caristia-d5nevgp.png)


	6. Together

“I want to know what happened to Jackson.”

 

It was lunch time and Lydia had strode over as soon as she had spotted them, clattering her tray onto the table where Stiles and Scott were sitting. Her voice was secretive, low enough to not be overheard in the busy cafeteria while still not losing her usual demanding tone, even if Stiles could recognise a certain … uncertainty?

As she jerked back the chair to elegantly seat herself in front of the duo Stiles sighed. “Dude, I can’t believe it, it’s like we got a 2-weeks-vacation and now it’s _over_!”

Lydia frowned, obviously displeased that her previous question had not been answered already, before she threw Stiles a murderous look conveying how much of an idiot she thought he was. “What are you even talking about?”

“I mean my best friend and I actually spent non-being mauled, non-being threatened time together again, played video games, watched movies, watched some games with my _dad_ , ate stuff, good stuff, sweet stuff- pancakes! _Pancakes!_ And we actually even _studied_ and got homework finished on time without having to pull allnighters and just- we lived a _normal_ teenage life for _two weeks_.”

“Two weeks and three days.” Scott added with a serious face but not as such bitter contentment as Stiles was emitting.

During his little speech Lydia’s lips had formed into an unbelieving o-shape. She narrowed her eyes, one lid slightly twitching even. “Are you _ignoring_ me right now?”

“I am not ignoring you, Lydia.” After deciding against letting his head drop into the pulp of food for dramatic effect of the misery that was his life, Stiles lifted his gaze from his plate, finally meeting hers. “I am just waving our short-lived normalcy goodbye and I feel a _tad_ bit emotional.”

Lydia turned her strawberry blonde head to the side and Stiles was convinced that she was actually trying to impale him with her glare. “Are you kidding me?”

Stiles reeled back but before he could voice the apology that was on the tip of his tongue Scott beat him to it.

“We don’t know much. But do you wanna talk here?” He replied, steady eyes trained on her face. Lydia sat back, lifting her elbows off the table top and leaned against the backrest of her chair. The annoyance carved into her features bled out into a carefully blank face. She took a deep breath before she answered. “No.”

“Good, then, uh … let’s talk after school?” Stiles offered sheepishly.

Lydia simply nodded as she stared down onto her food as if it had done something to personally affront her. Scott nodded in return and that was that. Lunch passed in slightly dismal silence with Isaac joining them after a while, nodding in greeting as he sat down next to Lydia. Stiles just shook his head at this excessive nod-action as he wearily poked the food on his plate, only relaxing his tense shoulders when he felt the back of Scott’s fingers tentatively brush his side in reassurance.

 

 

“So, I see you guys later?” Isaac questioned meaningfully with raised eyebrows, throwing a careful glance into Lydia’s direction. The four of them had gotten up, disposed of their trays, and were now heading out of the cafeteria to their respective classes.

“Yeah, sure.” Scott replied, nodding with half a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. They had scheduled the first official emergency meeting at the Lahey house for today after school. It would be the first time after their last pack on pack encounter, and after they’d last seen Derek at all, that they would get together again. At least Stiles had been pleasantly surprised to learn that they were staying at an actual house now since he was sick of dirty abandoned warehouses with no available seating-accommodations.

“Lydia’s coming, too.” Stiles added and the ginger’s head snapped up at this. Stiles met her gaze and nodded at the approving look in her eyes.

“Uh, okay?” Isaac shrugged, tackling Scott with a frowny puppy face but the other wolf just shrugged in turn, too.

Stiles’ lips were pressed together tightly as he tried to shrug off the feeling of how utterly weak and lost he or maybe even _all of them_ felt. They parted ways with a promise of 5pm and answers in the back of their heads.

 

 

Derek looked seriously constipated. His eyes were wide, again with that serial killer glint to them, his nostrils flaring as if he was an angered bull. Stiles snorted uncomfortably at him. “Oh c’mon, big guy, she’s gonna be a _big_ help for sure. Maybe the biggest help of them all, what with her knowledge of Archaic Latin and the thereby actual ability to translate valuable information of the bestiary. Which might be our best shot. Since .. you do not seem to have any _helpful_ input at all?” Which was ridiculous. That Hale was a freaking _born_ werewolf and still, the facts about Alpha Packs they’d been able to get out of Isaac had been scarce – as good as _nothing_ , and in one term: unsatisfying. Hence the official emergency meeting, which had been inevitable either way though. They all knew, well, okay, maybe except _Derek_ because he was a thickhead, but they all knew that whatever was coming on to them, they needed to stick together, _work_ together. If Stiles just thought about how much chaos and misery a single alpha had brought upon them the last time, the thought of a whole pack of them made his gut clench in terror.

Derek leaned back in his chair; it seemed to be just a twitch of his shoulders but Stiles still noticed. The buzzhead grinned slightly. “The more the merrier, am I right?”

The deathglare Derek was confronting Stiles with was slightly threatening. Stiles shuffled nervously and glanced at Scott whose stare was fixed on the alpha.

“Derek.” It was like the whole room, or even the whole _house_ went dead-silent within a heartbeat. Scott felt the tension heavily setting on their shoulders. He and Derek hadn’t really talked since … well, he wasn’t quite sure if they’d ever really _talked_ aside from trying to force information or compliance out of each other in between running away, fighting, saving and surviving. “Tell us what we need to know.”

“That and everything else, because seriously, dude – tell us _everything_ , okay?” Stiles felt the need to clarify.

Derek’s gaze rested on the table which they were huddled around in the kitchen. He looked so stock-still, Stiles wondered if he was even breathing. The prolonged silence was fraying Stiles’ nerves so he took up speaking again.

“I had two days to dig up stuff. And you know what? There is only so much werewolf lore I can dig up online- and even if I’ve found some stuff, it’s pretty useless since I have nothing substantial to compare with. No way to pick out what is rubbish and what is actual truth or maybe rubbish covered in a thin layer of truth. Or the other way around.” Stiles was wildly gesticulating and Derek looked up from where he had been soullessly staring invisible holes into the wood. “We’re all in this shit, in it _deep_ , and we won’t get out of it anytime soon and although you should’ve shared all accessible knowledge _way_ earlier, the latest point to do so is _now_.” Derek blinked slowly, his jaw working. “All _I_ know for sure, in the animal kingdom – my only trustworthy comparison – alpha packs are unheard of, they are just .. _not!_ They are … _unnatural_.” Stiles finished off.

He and Derek held each other’s unreadable gazes for a few seconds before the alpha’s shoulders dropped – for real this time – and he rested his forearms onto the table as he slumped forward. Way to lose composure. The others were a little taken aback as they stared at him. Derek’s face was hovering over his arms as he spoke. “They are.”

“Excuse me?” Lydia asked, aghast. It was the first time she even used her voice since they’d entered the house (and Stiles had fully expected her to storm inside and demand her answers).

“They _are_.” Derek repeated. “Unnatural.”

“Somehow that doesn’t sound very comforting.” Scott observed weakly.

“Sounds rather disconcerting.” Stiles added for good measure, already feeling his heart in his mouth.

“An alpha needs his own pack. It’s what he seeks because it is the _purpose_ of his life. It’s what he usually _has._ ” His voice sounded extra throaty as he enunciated it. “Same as betas seek an alpha … _their_ alpha. Because _together_ they function.” He gave a heartless laugh before he continued. “Together they are ... complete. At least it used to be so.” The others sat around Derek, thunderstruck.  Even Stiles, who already could taste a thousand questions burning on his tongue, kept his mouth shut.

“When an alpha meets another alpha … you could say their defence mechanism automatically kicks in. And this ‘defence mechanism’ includes enhanced senses and strength –“

“A werewolf adrenaline boost?” Stiles burst out accidentally.

A moment passed. Derek eyed Stiles who held his breath, a guilty expression contorting his features.

“Of the special kind, yes. You could say that.” Derek admitted dryly. He huffed out a breath before he sat up, straightening his back. “They need to defend their pack, their territory, their _status_. So this defence mechanism is a _‘boost’_ -“ He raised an eyebrow as he repeated Stiles’ words. “- to aid the alpha in that mission.”

“So this defence mechanism is triggered by the presence of another alpha?” Lydia cut in, sounding curious while surprisingly _not_ asking about Jackson. Apparently she did know what timing was.

“Yes.”  
“So if we’re talking about a _pack_ of alphas …” Lydia trailed off, frowning.

“They’re constantly triggered.”

Stiles gasped and Lydia gaped at Derek before she quickly collected herself. “Can it last _that_ long, this … boost?”

Derek shrugged his shoulders.

“The defence mechanism is a natural reaction, it kicks in and does its job even if the alphas are acquainted or even _working_ together. They are constantly aware of each other, senses are on high alert, strength always at its peak.”

“Why do they work together?” Scott piped in, his face a mask of incredulity.

Derek shrugged his shoulders again.

“They’re without own pack, maybe even without own territory. So they can move freely, they’re not bound. There can be many reasons for them to work together. First of all, survival. Traveling as a lone alpha can be dangerous. Others will be after your status.”

“But that’s not it.” Stiles observed, suspiciously eyeing Derek.

Derek exhaled heavily through his nose. “Secondly, alpha packs used to act as some kind of vigilante groups. To keep our kind in line. There are rules to harming people. There are rules to turning people. There are rules to everything. And in the past few months a lot of those rules have been broken. A lot of people have been killed.”

“But you didn’t do anything!” Scott protested instantly and then he shook his head. “No, _okay_ , you turned people but you didn’t do it against their will and you- you didn’t run around killing people for revenge!”

“I did not.” Derek calmly agreed. “But someone did. Some alpha did.”

“Peter.” Stiles breathed the name and Lydia jerked her head towards him, red waves bouncing.

“There have not been any werewolf related incidents since the fire.  There have not even been any werewolves here. Now there are. That’s all they need to know.” Derek continued, eyes dark.

“What are they gonna do?” Isaac asked, ash-faced. His gaze was laced with worry as he stared at Derek.

Derek shrugged. “They are rumoured to have a way of mostly only talking through actions. To make an example of those who stepped out of line.”

Stiles groaned loudly and scrubbed both hands through his hair. “So a bunch of violent alphas that are constantly drugged on each other are gonna come after your were-ass?”

“It might not be only me. They might come after any werewolf. Or after _anyone_ who was involved.” Derek looked at Lydia meaningfully. She stared back at him.

“Lydia was bit by an alpha and she didn’t die nor turn.” Stiles evaluated, shocked. “But they wouldn’t know about that, would they? How could they? So she is safe, right?” Lydia hadn’t realised what her hand was doing until she felt her palm press onto the scars hidden underneath her clothes.

Derek shrugged again.

“Can’t we reason with them?” Scott asked hopefully, puppy face on full beam. “Explain our situation..s?”

Derek shrugged _again_.

“If they’d just want to kill us, why did they come to spray graffiti onto your front door and then leave again?”

Derek paused and seemed to think. “Maybe they wanted to make sure what they had to deal with. Maybe they caught scents and had their theories confirmed … maybe they only send a pioneer? I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s psychological warfare.” Lydia commented.

The others stared at her and she shrugged. “Maybe they’re good at what they do and they enjoy it. Play some games.”

“Oh my god, Lydia.” Stiles groaned, burying his head in his arms. “You’re making it worse.”

“Whatever it is, we need to be prepared.” Scott concluded, ascertained.

“We need a plan!” Stiles jumped onto the bandwagon. “Several plans!”

“If we’re lucky maybe we can talk them out of … whatever they might be planning on doing! Maybe we can solve this without people getting hurt or killed .. but …” Scott trailed off, looking conflicted.

Derek considered him with a wistful look in his eyes. Maybe it was because he saw in Scott what he did not possess himself anymore. But the world had taught Derek better than to hope and be positive and the wistful look transformed into one of pity. Scott was naïve and still had cruel lessons to learn. Derek’s face hardened and he nodded.

“We need to be prepared.” He repeated Scott’s words.

“So, then- can we set up our base in your house?” Stiles asked.

 

Later on Derek surprised everyone by suggesting eating together. “I bought Fruit Loops. And other food … stuff.” He explained grumpily. Stiles and Scott shared a look and Isaac bounced in his seat, his whole face lighting up.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Lydia agreed bountifully.

 

They had settled down in the living room. Isaac and Lydia on the couch, Stiles and Scott in front of it on the ground, the flickering lights of the TV painting their faces. Derek sat in an armchair, chewing on a sandwich. Stiles had to stop spooning Fruit Loops into his mouth from time to time and stare at him because he couldn’t remember if he’d actually ever seen _Derek Hale_ eat something. Somehow in his head that guy lived on creeping in shadows and brooding around alone.

The tension from earlier had stopped choking them and that’s when Lydia spoke up.

“So after the initial topic has been taken care of for now and will be thoroughly taken care of by us later on … I want to know. What happened to Jackson?” She asked, setting the spoon back into her bowl and looking at Derek expectantly.

The alpha seemed slightly put off for about a second before he answered. “He left.”

“I noticed.” Lydia snapped.

“Everyone thinks he’s dead.” Isaac added helpfully.

“He _isn’t_.” Lydia emphasised the word with a frantic tone to her voice. As if she was needing reassurance.

“He isn’t.” Derek responded.

“Why did he leave? Where to? Why didn’t he say goodbye to me and-“ Lydia stopped herself, seeming only a bit embarrassed about the flood of questions.

Derek sighed. “I don’t know.” His tone was final.

Lydia inhaled as if she was going to speak up again and then she and Derek had an extremely long and scary stare off that ended with her huffing in annoyed frustration and turning back to face the TV. “This isn’t the end, Hale.” She assured him, venom dripping from her voice.

Stiles thought it was a wise choice that Derek hadn’t mentioned anything about Peter leaving with Jackson. Apparently the other two thought so, too, since no one had spoken up to clear up that specific aspect of the issue. Lydia was new to all this supernatural shit and especially to Peter-related stuff she was … vulnerable? At least they wouldn’t know how she would react. They didn’t even know what was up with her and being immune to the bite. They didn’t even know what exactly Peter had done to her and if it was still affecting her. They didn’t even know how much she knew. Even with an alpha pack breathing down their necks, they had to take it slow. Because even when Scott had gotten bitten not _all_ hell had broken loose upon them in just one night.

 

Later on Derek surprised everyone again by addressing an issue all by himself without having been prodded to do so. They were standing in the hallway, about to leave. Isaac had already said goodbye and excused himself to his room.

“We checked the Argent house and we found a faint trace of them leading from the house into the woods.”

“Who’s ‘them’?” Lydia demanded, confused.

“Erica and Boyd!” Scott answered, voice tight with worry.

“And?” Stiles inquired.

“It stops.”

“Just stops?”

“Yes. We just ... we lost it. We could only pursue it a few miles in.”

“That’s _weird_.”

Derek just nodded stiffly.

“So we still don’t know what happened to them?”

Derek just shook his head stiffly. He looked defeated.

“Have a safe trip home.” He wished them and Stiles was not going to lie, he was a bit creeped out by Derek’s obliging behaviour. He’d talked to them. Like, _really_ talked! He had shared knowledge. And Fruit Loops. And they hadn’t even had to coerce him into anything yet. He really had to be desperate. The others were already out the door when Stiles stopped in his tracks. He turned around to face the last remaining Hale (and undead uncles did _so_ not count) who was still standing leaning against the wall, watching them go.

“What were you planning on doing?”

Derek frowned in response. “What do you mean?”

“Did you plan to stubbornly carry it out somehow? All on your own?”

Stiles could literally see in the twitch of his jaw muscles how Derek grit his teeth. “I am.”

“No.” Stiles disagreed, eyes narrowed and voice sharp. “No, you’re _not_. You might not trust us, but you _should_. We’re with you. We’re on your side. We mean no harm. We’re gonna kick some serious ass, we’re gonna get your pack back and- and-“ He threw his arms up in exasperation. “Stop moping around, you sad-ass!”

“All I hear is you talking about _ass_.” Derek replied instead of actually acknowledging any of the points Stiles had made. But there was no bite in his words and something soft to his gaze, something … hopeful? And for Stiles that was good enough, for now. He snorted, waved a last goodbye and headed outside.

 

On the way back to Stiles’ house he and Scott agreed that they both were pretty amazed at how this meeting had turned out to … _function_. It had been weird but in the end, somehow, still kind of … nice.

 

×××

 

"I wanna ask Danny out on a date."  
  
It was later in the evening that day and they’d shared a comfortable silence for a while, each of them busy doing school work, when Stiles suddenly raised his voice.

Scott, sprawled across Stiles' bed, paused reading Stiles’ newest Star Wars magazine (which he had hid in his homework because he was _totally_ doing the reading for Econ). He lifted his chin from the comforter to turn his head and look at his best friend. Stiles sat slumped in his computer chair playing with a ruler in his hand. "But I don't wanna be _rejected_ by Danny so I won't."

Scott blinked sheepishly before he objected. "Danny wouldn't reject you!"

"Of course he would! He doesn't take me seriously! And I think I'm not his type."

Scott set the book with the magazine in it down. "You can't know that, Stiles!"

"But I do! I'm no one's type! It's a _fact!_ " Stiles made a frustrated noise at Scott's confused puppy face. "Don't try to contradict me!" Scott silently frowned to himself as Stiles threw the ruler back onto his desk with such force that it bounced up and away. Scott sat up.

"It's true you're not everyone's type." Stiles made a face at his friend's words. "But _no one_ 's everyone's type! Everyone's someone's type." Scott proudly nodded to himself, smiling innocently. "You're very .. _attractive_ , Stiles. And you're a good guy. In fact, you're _the_ best guy I know. So these someones have to work really hard to even deserve you."

Stiles was covering his face with his hands, ears turning red. "Oh my god, Scott", he moaned, torn between calling him on the cheesy or being grateful. “You've been my best friend since kindergarten, it's like if you'd be my mother-”, he shortly paused, “- what I mean is, it doesn't count what you say!”

Scott pouted. “Why not?”

“Because it's _all_ about first impressions! First impressions are everything! So if on the first impression someone finds you attractive, if you're his or her _type_ , he or she hits on you! Or at least gives you a chance! To successfully hit on them! Or at least- at least _talk_ to them.” Stiles was gesturing in a way that his whole upper body was in constant movement. “And it seems my first impression vibe is just not very _impressive_! And if people first have to get to know me and learn to tolerate and accept me _for years_ , before they might recognise what, _that_ I'm worth something- worth a try- then no one's _ever_ gonna hit on me!” Stiles was breathing heavily, his frustration apparent.

“The first time I saw you”, Scott began calmly, a very fond expression on his face, “I thought you were the most beautiful person I had ever met. You had this long, silky hair and very big, brown and beaming eyes with those _eyelashes_ \- I actually thought you were a girl.”

Stiles just gaped at Scott, speechless. Not for very long though. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “I- Is that why..?”

“That's why I bugged my mom into helping me phone your house to-”

“- ask if I'd like to play with you because you like people with long hair.” Stiles finished for him, actually facepalming.

“I have to admit, the thing with the hair was just an awkward slip because I had been so nervous when mom gave me the phone.” Scott chuckled.

“Scott.” Stiles groaned.

“Yes?” His friend answered, grinning cheekily.

“ _Scott!_ ” Stiles slapped both of his hands onto his face for emphasis. “You actually _hit on me_? I was _five_!”

“I know. I was, too.”

“And not a girl!”

“That I know, too.”

“And my hair wasn't _that_ long!”

“But it framed your face quite nicely.”

“I can't believe we're having this conversation!”

“You asked for it.”

 

Stiles was wringing his hands, struggling for words. His cheeks were actually coloured in a soft shade of red and Scott found it all to be very endearing. He chuckled happily. “See, you left _quite_ an impression. And I've never regretted that I went for it.”

Stiles groaned, turning his chair to face his desk and letting his head bump onto its surface. “Why am I not five anymore, when I was five people would hit on me”, he mumbled to himself, disbelieving.

Scott just laughed and settled back onto the bed, grabbing the magazine.

 

 

> They were about to turn into the next aisle and Scott stopped dead in his tracks. Instinctively he had gripped for his mother's leg, little fingers digging into the denim of her jeans. “Mom, _Mom_! Who's that?”
> 
> Melissa lifted her gaze from her son's curly head to where his other hand pointed a chubby finger. She recognised the Stilinskis standing in front of the cereal shelf, their little son excitedly climbing in between their legs and around.
> 
> “Those are the Stilinskis, they just moved back here. I've forgotten the kid's name but his father is a police man. Isn't that exciting?” She began to push the shopping cart again and Scott only nodded, his mouth wide open. “Yeah, .. siting”, he tried to repeat his mother's words absent-mindedly as he trotted along, still gripping her leg. As Stiles and his parents disappeared from his sight Scott had come to a decision that wiped the adorable dumbfounded expression off his face. At least a bit. Tiny bit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BETA'ED BY AZUR, THANKS AGAIN! <3
> 
> Heh, I know there was a lot of nodding and shrugging but somehow it amused me, okay. ;)
> 
> If you'd like you can take a look at how I imagine five-year-old Stiles (and Stiles when he was 13, 14 years old). I doodled a picture - [click here](http://caristia.tumblr.com/post/35294468484/stiles-was-proud-of-his-hair-it-was-long-and)!
> 
> If you're on tumblr, it would be lovely if you'd reblog [this post](http://caristia.tumblr.com/post/34807513712/youve-adapted-well-stiles-observes-pausing) I made about IKYKIK (maybe the fic will gain a few more readers that way)? 
> 
> Also I do have a few subscribers and that makes me happy, thank you!  
> It'd be lovely, too, if you could give me some feedback~  
> Comments are always encouraged, yes, please!
> 
>  **EDIT:** So I actually sat down and finally drew up some timelines for this fic. Hopefully you can read them, hopefully it does not confuse you even more and hopefully I didn't forget anything vital: [timeline for chapter 6](http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/342/5/a/timeline_for_fanfic5_by_caristia-d5nevle.png)


	7. Deaton

“Alphas _high_ on other alphas.”

 

Stiles was standing in front of the reception desk of the veterinary clinic, his hands and shoulders lifted in a frozen-in-time shrug of _what-the-hell-is-my-life_. Scott was standing next to him, though two steps behind, scratching his neck and sporting an apologetic face. Deaton stood behind the desk, arms folded in front of his chest, expression unreadable – almost blank.

“I – _We_ need help,” Stiles explicated further.

It was really late, _insolently_ late, but shortly after Scott had finished studying the Star Wars magazine to each crucial detail and started on actually doing the reading for Econ, Stiles had flipped. The whole news of the alpha pack _plus_ the new flood of information they had received some hours earlier had caught up with him (again). So then he’d forced Scott to ring up his boss and here they were. Snuck out of the house in the dead of night ( _again_ ).

Both of them had been a bit surprised by how quickly and easily Deaton had agreed to meet up with them right then and there. It had almost felt like he had been waiting for them.

“What do you have in mind?” Deaton asked, his voice calm and soothing. If his voice was a bonbon it’d be a mix out of toffees and cough drops that you’d just want to keep eating because they’d be really tasty and actually helping and – Stiles’ head jerked upwards, shaking himself out of his thoughtful comparisons.

“I thought maybe you could teach us a thing or two,” Stiles replied, gaze steadily fixed upon the veterinarian. “Teaching Scott over here,” he pointed at the addressed one with his thumb in another jerky motion, “some wolfy stuff and me …” He paused. Deaton with his unmoving stance and expression was somehow putting him off. No matter how trustworthy he seemed or what favourable an ally, the creepiness of his ever-present calm was gnawing at Stiles’ gut. Still, he took one deep breath and continued:  “… some tips and tricks? Just … _any_ thing useful.” Scott was being unusually quiet so Stiles just continued his short and to the point monologue. “I want us to be able to defend ourselves. I want us to be prepared.”

“You want advice?”

“Yeah?!” Stiles puffed out air then smacked his lips. “Knowledge, and given, the required supplies, if possible –“

“I think there could be something arranged.”

Deaton smiled at him, honest to god _smiled_ and it wasn’t one of those small, knowing ones, it was a big one, actually bordering a grin as if he was – as if he was actually _excited_ for this.

“Thanks,” Scott offered, answering with a sort of relieved smile of his own. And Stiles just stood there, still a breath in his lungs he didn’t know which words to use for, forgotten; so he relaxed, visibly, leaning back against the touch of Scott’s palm settling on his shoulder.

“Your negotiation skills need a bit of rasping,” Deaton remarked off-handedly before he leant forward to grab something off the desk.

“What?” Stiles spluttered. “I did pretty good, I think –  and– _what?_ Whywas _this_ a _negotiation_?”

“The arguments backing up your request should’ve been more in numbers or at least more elaborate thus more valid.”

Stiles gaped at the man in front of him open-mouthedly, obviously scandalised. Deaton was taking a step closer, until his knees were barely touching the little fence thingy of the reception. “Also we’ll have to work on your non-existent formal phrasing.”

Stiles frowned only harder. What was going on with that guy? “Why would we– I was just– asking for help and– I _don’t understand!_ ”

Deaton just smiled at him. “You will. Because you need not only be prepared for the alpha pack wreaking havoc over your territory and the people you love, but you need to be prepared for the changes that they will bring. You need to be prepared for the consequences and requirements that certain special conditions such as Scott’s entail, and _will_ entail in the future.”

Ice-cold dread was pooling in Stiles’ stomach and Deaton was handing him a small container that was of a plain light-grey colour. It reminded Stiles of those little capsules that you knew from when you were little, those plastic cans where camera films had been stored in; the ones that had been so much fun to pop their caps off and back on.

“I have no idea what you are getting at,” Stiles declared weakly.

“You will,” Deaton just returned determinedly.

“Are you insinuating I am _not_ handling this?” Stiles asked, waving his hand holding the capsule, vaguely pointing at Scott and himself with his index finger in a twirling motion. “Because then I would like to know what I have been doing since that night when Laura Hale’s body was found in the woods and– “

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott interrupted him, his voice gentle but urging him to stop his incoming enraged rambling. He could tell that Stiles was getting worked up, or rather, even _more_ worked up – and that although he already was all jittery. He could tell it from how his smell changed and his heart beat picked up speed, he could tell it from how he felt his body tense under the touch of his hand. Scott blinked. He hadn’t noticed that he still hadn’t let go of his best friend. Now he did just that. Slowly, casually, without drawing attention, he dragged his hand down Stiles’ back.

 “No, you’ve certainly been handling this _quite_ … well,” Deaton stated, ever-calm and a gleam to his eyes. “But since you came here to me and asked for advice, I shall certainly indulge into the execution of my profession as counsellor and hopefully aid you in not only handling ‘this’,“ and he raised his brows meaningfully, “but rather _coping_ with it.”

“Counse– I thought you were a veterinarian,” Stiles was clutching the capsule close to his chest, staring at Deaton accusingly.

Deaton just tilted his head and stepped back. “I _am_ a veterinarian.”

“What kind of– “

But Stiles was cut off by Deaton. “Since you’ve come all this way here I decided to give you something to take with you.”

“What is it?” Stiles inquired curiously, not entirely minding the change of topic.

Deaton just pointed at him and Stiles just stared back, uncomprehending until he realised that the doc was referring to the capsule he was still gripping tightly. It felt warm against his skin.

“Something to play with,” the vet quirked an eyebrow and the freckled teen made a face.

“ _What_ is it?” Stiles repeated his words from before and felt Scott stepping closer, fingertips softly pressing against the back of the hoodie he was wearing.

“Wolfsbane,” Deaton replied, his tone insinuating slight exasperation as if that had been obvious.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” Stiles asked before he could think better of it. But seriously – with that small amount – should he practice drawing circles with it, to close in some wereinsects or what? What good would that bring? Were wereinsect even a thing? He hoped not. And he _strongly_ hoped that there were no kinds of wereinsects, ever.

“It’s not about the amount,” Deaton remarked as if he’d been reading his mind. “But about intent.”

“You mean your whole … _belief_ thing?”

Deaton just dipped his chin down. Stiles supposed this was supposed to be a nod. “There are as many uses to mountain ash as it has names, if not even more.”

“More than being poisonous to werewolves and blocking them out or in?” Something in Stiles sparked to life with a thrill.

Deaton narrowed his eyes with a pleased smile, “ _So much more_.” He turned on his heels, stepping through the door adjacent to the rest of the clinic’s rooms. “Consider this your first assignment,” he faced them once more, enclosing the door knob with his hand. “You got food for thought.” And there it was, that challenging, almost _mocking_ smile. “So get _creative_.” He then fixed his gaze on Scott and nodded, “Good night, boys.” The door fell closed.

Stiles just stood there, frozen in place, staring at the door. Scott shifted beside him, his heat seeping underneath Stiles’ clothes. He hadn’t even realised how close they’d come to be standing next to each other. Scott’s fingers were brushing at his elbow before closing around it.

“Let’s go home,” Scott whispered, guiding him to the glass entrance doors.

×××

“I feel like we’re in some badly adapted teenage werewolf version of The Godfather,” Stiles spoke up, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Scott chuckled a bit, continuing to stare out the window, tapping his fingers on its sill not to the rhythm of the song that was mutely playing in the background.

“Some other Mafia family is threatening us and totally not playing by our rules, totally over the top, what with the drugs and all – and we want to keep our business going all nice and good and safe with the casinos and all, so we like, we ally with another family.” Stiles sighed heavily, his fingers hurting with the exertion of clawing the wheel like that. “We even got our own _counsellor_ and –  just, wow.”

Scott turned to confront Stiles with a sharp gaze, studying his profile in the dim light. Stiles eyes were fixed on the windshield.

“Counsellor? Like, _seriously_? Does he have to be so weird and mysterious _all the time_? We seem to have _sources_ here but still the most reliant and spitting out information seems to be good ol’ Google.”

“I think we did good for that short amount of time we had,” Scott remarked gently. “It’s only been a few hours, Stiles.”

“We knew about the alpha pack for a few _days_ now.”

“But we’ve only gotten more reliable information today! Or … yesterday. Since today is already today because look at the time and … ugh, we have to go to school,” Scott bemoaned. He hated only getting barely a handful of hours to sleep.

“Get creative _my_ _ass_ ,” Stiles muttered under his breath and Scott just smiled softly; Stiles getting loud and moody when tired was nothing new.

“We’ll figure stuff out,” Scott promised as Stiles parked the jeep.

“I do hope so.”

“We always do.”

 

Once they were inside and up the stairs they did not even bother to take a shower or even just brush their teeth. The two of them just quickly undressed to their boxers and fell into bed.

They were lying next to each other, feet touching and Stiles was contemplating if he could get away with snuggling up along Scott’s side. Because he totally needed some comfort and closeness right about _now_. And his friend had started to act a bit different in bed, oh my god, how did that even sound – ‘act different in bed’, that sounded dirty, that sounded – wow, no, _wait!_ Mind, don’t go there! Stiles tried to smother down the heat rising in his cheeks by thinking about how Scott had acted a bit indifferent towards him the past few days and their newly arisen cuddle habit. And if Scott had only needed those nightly embraces and cuddle sessions because of something Allison related, then, maybe, okay – _fine_. But maybe then they should still talk about it? And if Scott did not want to bed snuggle anymore then … Stiles would miss it but he wouldn’t force it upon Scott. That would be weird. Was all this weird? But it felt _good_. Had felt good. Stiles was getting more worked up with each passing second and subconsciously tapped his foot against Scott’s until said one freed him from his ordeal when he just pulled him voluntarily close. Scott tucked the buzzhead neatly under his chin, and everything was good, everything was warm, everything was _Scott_.

Stiles couldn’t help the sigh that escaped between his lips and ghosted over Scott’s skin. Without thinking Stiles freed his arms from being awkwardly squeezed up against muscle and soft skin and wrapped them around Scott’s shoulders. Stiles tipped his head up and pressed his face into the bend of the werewolf’s neck, inhaling deeply while pushing his whole body up against Scott’s as if he was trying to get under his skin.

Scott shuddered under him, making a noise in the back of his throat. His grip around Stiles tightened.

Something inside Stiles sparked to life with a thrill.

But it was not the same as before when they’d been at Deaton’s. It was not the thrill of interest and curiosity being piqued. It was a thrill that churned low in his stomach and even _lower_.

Stiles was glad that he was too tired and leached out to actually care enough to examine it. Then and there he just savoured the feel of it and the comfortableness and the contentedness of their closeness.

Later on Stiles wouldn’t be able to tell if it had been accident or purpose when dry lips caught on hot skin. But somehow they did and suddenly Scott’s hand was up on his neck, caressing it, rubbing circles with his thumb into the dip underneath his hairline and Stiles just smiled, and kept smiling, somehow, even as his breathing evened out and his body relaxed against Scott’s slightly broader frame.

Neither of them had spoken a word and as Scott listened to Stiles’ steady and calm heartbeat, he felt the occasional flutter of lashes against his skin where the side of Stiles’ face was smushed against his chest. Scott stared at the ceiling, watching the patterns of light thrown onto it from outside without really seeing them, feeling confused, strangely guilty and the barest hint of _turned on_.

×××

“We’re supposed to look like a study group.”

 

Stiles had raised his brows and scrutinised the people currently occupying his bedroom. Scott was flouncing on his bed as usual, Lydia had sat herself neatly onto its edge and Isaac was casually leaning against the wall, long and lanky and why the hell was he still wearing a leather jacket. They were _inside_.

“We _are_ a study group,” Lydia objected, the tiniest bit annoyed.

“Still don’t look like it,” Stiles returned, unimpressed.

“What do you suggest?” Isaac inquired, surprisingly accommodating which earned him a lopsided smile from Stiles.

“Well. I’d say get out some school work, textbooks ‘n stuff but yeah … you didn’t even bring any?”

Lydia had stomped into his house with just a little purse dangling against her hip and Isaac had had the audacity to just climb inside through the window, the self-proclaimed werewolf door, with nothing on him except his leather jacket … and all his other clothes, but no school supplies or anything, you get the drill. Stiles didn’t even know why he was worrying so much. His dad wasn’t even home to maybe unexpectedly check in on them but being cautious had started to grow on him. At least in some aspects … or at least ~~only~~ especially the ones concerning his dad that had to do with keeping him out of the supernatural messes aka keeping him safe.

Stiles sighed and muttered a “Whatever”, waving a hand in front of his face as he turned back to his laptop.

“I suggest we’d get started now because honestly, I might have better things to do than waste my time in an enclosed space with three awkward teenage werewolves,” Lydia chirped venomously.

“I’m not a werewolf,” Stiles retorted, annoyed. Lydia just shrugged in reply with a slightly scornful gaze directed at all of them all that seemed to say ‘it’s not _my_ fault I am not in the know about everything but _yours’_. Or maybe it said something along the lines of ‘I am still fuming over how you all abandoned me and left me in the dark for so long and I am still planning to take my brilliantly-plotted _bloody_ revenge’.

“But I agree … let’s start with our brainstorming session,” Stiles unplugged his laptop from the power and took it up, setting it down onto his lap as he spun around in his desk chair.

“Where’s Derek?” Lydia asked, eyes narrowed.

“He’s out to check some stuff out,” Isaac answered, shrugging.

“What does that mean, _‘out’_?”

In reply Isaac just lowered his gaze, raising his brows while pursing his lips. Apparently he had no better idea what ‘Derek going out’ was supposed to mean than any of them. No surprise. Derek seemed to still be the same old untrusting and ineloquent individual as he’d been before. Even with his own pack. What if the alpha pack happened to come by just today? And then they’d attacked Derek while he was ‘out’ on his own, unable to call for help. Or what if they came by here and the four of them had no way to call Derek and – wow, that ass of an alpha was so _unthoughtful_.

“He’s such a dumbass!” Stiles called out loudly, amazed. His sudden out-burst had the other three jerking slightly and meeting him with confused or judging gazes.

“Does he even have a _phone_?”

Isaac blinked apparently not quite comprehending what Stiles was playing on. “I- I think he has one … but he doesn’t really use it … much?”

“I think he called me, like … sometime, when he asked me for help during their first full moon,” Scott interjected, from where he was lying stomach-down on the bed, a hand supporting his chin in a slightly thoughtful gesture. “Left a message on the mail box.”

“Did you save his number?” Stiles asked quickly.

Scott furrowed his brows in an unhappy puppy look and tilted his head. “I don’t think so …” And when Stiles made an unappreciative noise he quickly added. “But maybe the call is still saved on my mailbox, so– “

“Check it!” Stiles demanded and then turned back to the other two while Scott got busy wrenching his phone out of his pocket without getting up out of his lying position. “First of all, we have to stay connected. 24/7. We should always know where the others are, so that we’ll instantly know if someone goes missing or something out of the ordinary happens.”

“So I’m part of your little freak group now?” Lydia wanted confirmed, casually throwing her hair back over her shoulder.

“You don’t want to be?” Stiles countered, a bit put off.

“I just want Jackson back,” Lydia replied icily.

“Well, yeah. But you _gotta_ stick with us for now,” Stiles replied, scrubbing a hand down the side of his face. “Because we have bigger things to worry about than Jackson. Massive, _mauling_ things– and we– we _need_ your brains, Lydia. And also, in case you haven’t noticed – you need _us_ just as much we need _you_.” And he fixed her with an intense stare of his deer brown eyes. “Because _you_ , Lydia Martin, are _nothing_ short of extraordinary.”

Lydia’s lips had slightly parted, her brows furrowed in a stance that Stiles couldn’t easily identify. And that after he’d spent the greater part of his life rigorously studying her from afar. Scott had sat up, the phone to his ear and staring at his best friend with an unreadable expression and Isaac had straightened his posture, gaze sharp.

“It’s not just werewolves. It’s you, it’s me – everyone involved – and who could be involved, and _avoiding_ to involve any more people in this mess,” Stiles interrupted his impromptu-speech to breathe. “And first and foremost, it’s about handling– no, it’s about _coping_ with this mess. _Owning_ it. – And for that we gotta be prepared. So let’s stop bitching or any possible to happen in the future bitching and _start_ preparation.”

Lydia was pressing her lips tightly together before she released a breath and quirked an eyebrow. “Looks like you grew some balls, Stilinski.”

“I had them all along!” Stiles protested, outraged.

“And I’m not only here because of Jackson,” Lydia continued easily. “I’m here because I _want_ to. And … it’s not like I have anywhere else to go.” And even if she ended her admittance with a little sting, Stiles still smiled brightly.

“Welcome to the family, Lyds.” He nodded and the corners of his eyes crinkled with his heartfelt smile.   
“Don’t call me that. And also? You’d all end up dead without me.”

“For sure,” Stiles agreed and exhaled, feeling a bit lighter.

“I got it!” Scott called out and started loudly repeating the numbers the voice of his mailbox was dictating him. Stiles quickly typed them down in the already opened document on his laptop.

“Okay! Back to exchanging numbers!” He declared and thus phones were pulled out and contacts shared.

 

Later Scott and Isaac were sitting on the floor, leaning back against Stiles’ bed where Lydia was enthroned like the queen she was, a notepad on her knees that she had stolen from Stiles’ desk.

“So we have three big messes,” she stated, drawing up a table on the paper. “Jackson. The Erica and Boyd Affair, and The Alpha Pack.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over them while Lydia scribbled down notes and the boys just sat there, silent and faces dark. Lydia left the column about Jackson and blank and filled the Erica and Boyd one with _‘got lost in woods?’_.

“The most prominent and urgent one is that of the alpha pack of course,” Lydia tapped the pen against the paper in a steady, unbreaking rhythm. “As I see it, alphas are the strongest, most dominant werewolves out there, right?”

The boys nodded.

“And then we have a whole _pack_ of them. That conveniently also means that they have an advantage of yet unknown numbers and extra strength because of that annoying defence mechanism.”

“And they’re going to come after Derek’s ass. Maybe all our asses,” Stiles threw in helpfully. Lydia just shot him a look.

“So it’s simple. We need to separate them,” Lydia concluded and continued writing. Stiles gasped while the two werewolves’ heads shot up.

“That’s brilliant, Lydia!” Stiles exclaimed while she just waved him off.

“We need to separate them. Then take them on one by one, favourably _without_ Derek because I don’t trust that creeper and his abilities, also so as that there won’t be anything to trigger any advantages on their part.”

“And then we’ll have two werewolves and two ass-kicking humans up against one alpha,” Stiles elaborated. “Hey, that almost sounds like a fair fight, right?”

“ _Given_ they’re looking for a fight, maybe they want to talk?” Scott chipped in, hopeful.

Lydia tilted her head. “We’ll need to have several back-up plans for several scenarios. The question is just, how much time do we have?”

“We don’t know,” Isaac replied, his voice void of life. Slightly startled by the tone Stiles looked down to check on him. And then he wanted to just reach out and reassure him because he looked _miserable_ as hell. Suddenly Scott tugged himself up against the werewolf’s side and Isaac seemed to relax a bit. Stiles shoulders dropped. He shook his head.

“True, we need to be prepared for fights and negotiations the like.” And then Stiles blinked, reminded of Deaton’s words. He tilted his head. Had the old man meant something like this?

“We’ll need places to go.” Lydia declared. “If we want to keep the town and its inhabitants out of it …”

“Abandoned places, yes,” Scott nodded harshly.

“Maybe some hide-aways, places to retreat to – or to stash emergency supplies,” Isaac added thoughtfully.

Lyida was scribbling down furiously, covering several sheets of paper (obviously sorted in some sort of system) with her neat, tiny handwriting. Watching her write Stiles only now realised that he’d be so into it, or _out_ of it, that he hadn’t protocolled at all. He stared at the cursor blinking behind the digits of Derek’s phone number.

“We need to know about how alpha packs work,” Scott spoke up suddenly. “How they tick.”

“Maybe there’s something in the bestiary!” Stiles thought out loud.

“The what?” Lydia asked, looking up from her work.

“It’s the like the bible of werewolves hunters,” he quickly explained. “Like some kind of manual? _But_ it’s written in Archaic Latin.”

“I know Archaic Latin.”

“I love you!” Stiles burst out instantly without meaning to. It was only a figure of speech to express his gratitude at her excellent skills and talents, but still, he winced. Awkward. The strawberry blonde was looking at him weirdly. “You’re a life saver!” He quickly added. Lydia scrunched up her nose slightly, turning back to her work and dismissing him.

“I’ll take a look at it.”

“Okay, so, hopefully we’ll find some useful information about alpha packs in the bestiary. Because if we know how they tick it might be easier to separate them and all.”

“The point is: How to fight a werewolf? An alpha?” Lydia slowly leant up out of her crouched-over-the-papers position.

“Well, the last alpha we met we set on fire,” Stiles told her quietly. He wasn’t sure but he’d thought he’d seen something flash up in Lydia’s gaze. “And then Derek finished him off.”

“Oh. So that’s when he became Alpha?” Of course Lydia had instantly caught up on that.

“Yes,” Scott replied between gritted teeth. Stiles shot him a look but Scott refused to meet his eyes, his face scrunched up in dismay.

“Also werewolves are like, allergic to wolfsbane.”

Lydia was silent before she spoke, her voice barely a whisper, “I figured as much.”

Stiles raised his brows but Lydia inhaled a deep breath and studied the ceiling of Stiles’ room.

“So wolfsbane is their weakness?”

“Yep. If they’re shot with a wolfsbane-laced bullet they cannot heal without … help. It’s poison to them, even more than to humans, in a way.”

“Because if something’s able to incapacitate such superior creatures to that extend,” Lydia said, her voice thick with comprehension, “then it must be _powerful_.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, his voice suddenly throaty.

“Then _this_ might be our greatest weapon,” Lydia concluded, her tone final.

“Yeah,” Stiles repeated, feeling suddenly weak-limbed as he turned to look at the unimposing capsule currently sitting on his desk.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thanks to Azur for his awesome and mindful beta'ing, as usual! <3 You are the best!  
> And of course, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Alsooo I drew up really simple timelines for each chapter (starting chap2) to illustrate fractions of the mess of data I am presenting you in this fic. Hopefully it clears things up ... a tiny bit? Click here for: [timeline for chapter 7](http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/342/2/f/2fe6bb47480729ab1a9130db65827e25-d5nevse.png) (and yes the **-?-** stands for that _you_ do not know yet how much time lays between the happenings of the past and the 'PRESENT')
> 
>  
> 
> Comments & kudos are _greatly_ appreciated~  
>  really they are.


	8. Bleachers

"They know next to nothing."

 

A young man with boyish features sat on a worn-out and patched-up couch, he turned his head to scrutinise his conversational partner.  As a reaction to his facial expression the woman slightly straightened her posture and squared her shoulders. Raising an eyebrow she tilted her chin up, challenging him into submission, or rather, challenging him into throwing a tantrum and then submitting – all the more amusing for her and even more humiliating for him. Her whole stance oozed pride and self-confidence.  Aiden scrunched up his nose and slightly bared his teeth in an ugly grimace. He hated this.

And while on the surface she seemed relaxed and sometimes maybe even partly entertained by those moody teenagers, below her irritation was growing steadily each day, a budding itch under her skin.

They continued their stare-off until Aiden – surprisingly – gave in.

He released a previously held-in breath and narrowed his eyes at the simple coffee table he was glaring at, before finally _acknowledging_ her words with a nod.

"You know, you have to learn to pull yourself together." She remarked dryly, inspecting her finger nails. "You may be an alpha, but that doesn't mean you're worth an alpha," she grinned when his head snapped back to face her, scarlet eyes glowing furiously. " ... yet."

 

×××

 

Lydia sent out the two werewolves to do something as useful as scouting for abandoned, secluded places (after they had not contributed much in the first place – not wanting to interrupt the brainstorming of their brainers, as Scott had put it – it wasn’t much of a loss).

She had now seated herself on Stiles’ desk chair and after an impressive show of cracking her knuckles she stared down the opened file of the bestiary, scanning through the pages, quick and efficient on the look-out for anything alpha pack related.

Stiles had a hard time keeping himself still and occupied – since there was not much to do with Lydia occupying his computer and therefore his only opening to do some serious research on wolfsbane. He didn’t even know why he hadn’t thought more of this stuff _way_ earlier. It just hadn’t occurred to him. Also they never had actively been on a warpath. Scott and he had always been more on the stumbling into it, defending, rescuing and frantically searching for solutions kind of path. But it seemed times were changing, once again. Which in turn forced them to change or at least _expand_ their thinking and methods. _Time to buckle up._

All of the werewolf-crisis related books he had actually bought and not just rented from the library he had stored in his room, concealed under boxes in his closet. But those he’d read inside out and he knew there wasn’t any new or insightful information or tips about wolfsbane in them. So he sighed, something he’d been continuously doing for the past few minutes without realizing, now causing Lydia to shoot him an unnerved glare. He ducked his head apologetically, not wanting to distract or further annoy her and made himself comfortable on his bed. He snatched up the notepad and ballpoint pen still lying on there, turned to a fresh page and tapped the tip onto the paper. He thought for a moment before he scribbled down some notes.

_– if injected through open wounds or inhaled causes pain, constricts healing abilities, certain amount (?) ends in death (or does it always end deathly just the less wolfsbane absorbed, the longer it takes? WHO KNOWS)_

_–  can trap them/lock them in_

Stiles wondered if werewolves were able to even touch wolfsbane (as long as there was no broken skin) and he wondered that if he drank a wolfsbane drink a day, if he’d become untouchable to werewolves. His eyes widened then and quickly dismissed that idea because then he would be unable to cuddle with Scott anymore plus he was pretty sure even humans could get aconite poisoning. This stuff was certainly not harmless to anyone. Still, werewolves were still on top of the ‘most vulnerable’ scale. At least for once.

He sighed and decided to pump Derek for information once he got a hold of him. Ah, Derek. That reminded him. He quickly grabbed his phone on the nightstand to shoot the alpha a quick message. After hitting ‘send’ he turned back to the notepad and sighed again. A pen caught him in the forehead.

“Stop sighing like a forlorn damsel!” Lydia demanded a tad bit furious.

“Sorry!” Stiles mouthed, too terrified to actual answer in a normal voice that could agitate Lydia even more.

So without his computer available – and no, he was not going to use his phone for this, it would just end in a slow, torturous process that he was not poised for (also saving information and bookmarking would be way too intricated and annoying) – he flounced around on his bed, wrecking his brain for other possible uses/effects of wolfsbane. After he’d scribbled down anything that came to his mind and he’d reached the point of only producing such glorious notes as _‘ARE THERE GOOD AND BAD PLANTS?! or are all wolfsbanes bad booh-boohs’_ and _‘could they get drunk on it?’_ , he decided he’d done enough on that part. He then came to the more fun part of his undertaking.

While trying to stay realistic he sketched possible wolfsbane weapons (some of them were plain ridiculous, others considerable if not short of genius), scribbling down more ideas and descriptions and feeling a bit like Peter Parker designing his Spidey-suit. He was pretty sure Lydia would crush most of his inventions later on but right now he felt a tiny bit awesome.

And he squelched his thoughts and feelings about actually designing weapons, right then and there, on his bed in his teenager bedroom; actual _weapons_ made to attack, to afflict pain, weakness _or worse._ He shoved any doubts or worries aside and concentrated fully and whole-heartedly on his task. They had people to protect. People and wolves alike.

 

“Do you have a USB stick?” Lydia startled him with her voice, tone flat but not as hostile as before. Stiles sat up and suddenly his senses kickstarted back in. He had been so deeply concentrating that he had not only blended out his surroundings but for example the state he’d forced his body to stay in for a seemingly too long period of time, if the flaring pain in his neck and upper back were anything to go by. He blinked and made a grabby motion for his phone, pressing the button on the side. The black screen lit up, displaying the time. “Wow!” He exclaimed, amazed. “It’s 02.02am!”

“Yeah, I know.” Lydia sighed exasperatedly flipping her hair back. “So, USB?”

“Ah, right, yeah, yeah, I got one.” Stiles replied, getting up eagerly to comply her wishes and wincing as he stretched his taut limbs.

“I translated some parts but I must admit … I might have not only lost track of time ...” She paused, frowning to herself and then shaking her pretty head. Stiles busily rummaged in one of his cupboard’s drawers, acting like he’d missed her little slip-up even if they both knew better of it.

“I want to take it with me and I’ll finish the translation, plus I’ll skim through it again, just in case …” She trailed off again, staring at the screen, her eyes red and tired.

Stiles made a squawking sound of triumph and lifted his hand holding a slightly transparent neon green USB stick high over his head. He walked over to the strawberry blonde girl and handed her the little device. Lydia nodded a thanks without quite looking at him, too busy connecting the drive and copying files.

“So, uh,” Stiles began awkwardly, scratching the back of his head and studying the snowboarding figure plastered to his wall. “Is it okay with your parents that you’re out this late?”

The green bar showcasing the progress of the data transfer was steadily growing and Lydia dipped her chin and turned her head to throw him an incredulous look. She studied him shortly as Stiles studied the floor in turn.

“It’s fine.”

Stiles took another deep breath, suddenly realizing he’d just spent the longest time alone with Lydia Martin in his _entire life_. The realisation was hitting him like a train. He was amazed at how … uninterested and uninvested he’d been the whole time, like woah, seemed he set his priorities right if drastic times called for it (unlike some certain BFF). Lydia still made him nervous and still made his heart flutter, always would; she was just _that_ kind of a woman. He still harboured the deepest and most honest if not a bit creepy adoration and admiration for her but still. He’d known since that fateful day of the Geranima, watching Jackson’s scaley downfall and wolfly resurrection. He’d known the moment something in his chest had broken free and understanding and grim acceptance had flooded his insides while he watched the Jydia reunion. A familiar sensation.

Lydia was up on her feet by now, USB stick stashed in her jeans’ pocket.

“Sh-Should I drive you home?” Stiles offered, remembering his manners. Or rather. Making his worry public.

Lydia eyed him and a small smile curved her full lips. “No, I drove here. It’s okay.” She gave him a tiny wave with her fingers and stepped towards the door, Stiles moving with her.

“You don’t have to see me out.” Lydia remarked decisively. “I know the way. I’ll even turn out the lights downstairs.” She comically widened her eyes and gifted Stiles a mocking smile. She opened the door to his room. “You should go to bed.”

“Ah, uh, yeah, thanks, you too!” Stiles stumbled upon his words, watching her quietly rush out the door and down the hall. He slowly closed the door and leaned back against it and his primary groan as he sagged down was closely followed by a big, hearty yawn. Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the warmth of his cheek as tiredness suddenly seemed to spread in his whole body.

“Guess I should catch a wink of sleep,” he mumbled completely indecisively to himself, half-heartedly pulling his shirt over his head to instigate changing into his sleep wear. He opted for only wearing boxers (which had nothing to do with the fact of some possible skin on skin contact when in bed, that would be ridiculous) and checked his blinking phone. He had an unread text message waiting. It was a short and simple one from Scott.

_SCOTT [02.14am] Staying at isaac’s, go to bed_

“What’s with people telling me to go to bed?” Stiles complained in a hushed voice without actually meaning it. He settled back onto his bed, this time under the sheets though. He was too tired and lazy for any kind of before-bed-routine and he really shouldn’t make a habit of not brushing his teeth but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

_sent [02.16am] Fine, you too_

The papers filled with Lydia’s and his own handwriting were still covering his comforter. A few had even fallen down onto the ground when he’d gotten into bed. So he sighed and gathered them up into one relatively neat stack (yep, he even leaned over the edge of the bed to snatch up the stray ones), successfully resisting the urge to scan his own notes once again because that would end up in him pulling an all-nighter correcting, adding and planning some more. The papers crackled in his hands as he took a deep breath through his nose and set them down onto his nightstand. He caught sight of his computer in the corner of his eye. It was free now. A familiar itch began to tingle in his fingers.

But on the other hand, the rest of his body was settling into his very own sleeping mode. There was his pillow, amazingly soft and smelling comforting. So he turned to smush his face into it, relaxing his frame against the mattress. He thought about how he had not told Lydia to lock the front door until he distantly remembered that they never locked their door since it had somehow never been deemed necessary. This was the _sheriff’s_ house after all. But maybe they’d have to overthink their routines now. He began drifting off and his thoughts blurred and he dozed off to an old, strangely familiar aching occupying his body, fuelled by the unconscious knowledge that something was missing.

 

×××

 

It was after 2am and they were staying at the Lahey house now. Scott was just shoving his cellphone back into the pocket of his pants as Isaac stepped in front of him. Scott looked up to study the fidgeting long-limbed teenager and questioningly tilted his head to the side.

“So,” Isaac started, pausing and then awkwardly clearing his throat. “Puppy piling. Is that a thing?”

“Uh,” Scott replied, dumbfounded, feeling his phone vibrate against his thigh.

 

 

×××

 

“What and you’re a more worthy alpha than I am?!” Aiden barked, jumping to his feet in one blurry motion.

“At least I am definitely more _patient_.” She replied easily, eyeing his fight stance and extended claws. “More _controlled_.” She let the words roll over her lips slowly, her slight foreign accent ticking him off. She tipped her head from side to side, eyes closed, a faint smile playing around the corners of her lips. “Qualities of a leader which you _lack_.”

Aiden just stared at her, glaring spitefully as he snapped his claws back in one swift motion before waving her off.

“What has gotten you so on edge?” Her eyelids opened slowly and she fixed him with an intense and calculating gaze. Whatever she had been doing just now, she seemed to be done with it. “You seem _distracted_.”

“You must be mistaken.”

 

×××

 

“So, you had a girl over last night?”

 

His dad opened the conversation, chewing his bite of toast innocently, feigning casualness. Stiles looked up from where he was stuffing scrambled eggs into his mouth and frowned. “Yeah?”

His dad shortly paused his chewing, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Who was it?”

The scrambled eggs his dad had made were very delicious and Stiles was still half delirious from the so _not_ enough sleep that he didn’t quite catch on what his dad might have been implying. “It was Lydia.” Without noticing he spit a small piece of egg across the table because he was talking with a full mouth. His dad set his toast down and leaned back against his chair.

“Lydia,” he repeated, raising a brow. “ _The_ Lydia Martin?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Who else?”

His dad was actually sort of beaming at him now, with a slightly impressed look that was only ridiculed by his pursed lips.

Stiles stared back at him, confused.

Then it clicked.

“ _Dad!_ Dad, what’re you- _no!_ ” He spluttered, flailing before clawing for purchase at the frame of the table and leaning forward, scandalised. “It’s not what you think! I told you about the study group, didn’t I?!”

“You did.” His father agreed, leaning forward himself and settling his arms on the tabletop. “But it _was_ pretty late.” He added meaningfully before he sobered. “Quite late actually, _too_ late for such a young lady. This won’t happen again, son. Understood?”

“ _Dad!_ ” Stiles exclaimed shooting up to sit straight in his seat. This was not real.

“Not during schoolweek.” His dad alluded grimly.

“ _No!_ ” Stiles shouted exasperatedly. “Dad, you don’t get it! It was _nothing_! We just lost track of time because uh, because we were studying that _intensively!_ ”

The sheriff raised his brows.

Stiles wanted to slap himself for his choice of words but at first he had to keep this little crisis at bay before any (sadly) totally untrue rumours were started (by his dad personally!) and his miserable existence would be ended by the wrath of one Lydia Martin.

“I know what it looks like!” He elaborated. “I know what it sounds like- wait, what does it sound like, what _did_ it sound like – I mean, did you hear us? How’d you even know?”

“I am the _sheriff_ ,” his dad answered seriously but the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement betrayed him.

Stiles couldn’t stop his chest swelling with pride at his father’s words so full of confidence and reliance. Still, he shook his head, fighting an urge to giggle.

His dad sighed. “Fine. I saw her shoes when I got home pretty late last night. It’s not that hard, Stiles.”

“Ah.”

“I thought I’d go easy on you since  … since, well, yeah.” John trailed off, shortly glancing down at his toast and then back up again. “Anyway, you won’t make a habit out of this. It’s not a gentleman thing to do to keep a girl out after her curfew.”

“I’m not quite sure if she had a curfew.” Stiles threw in vaguely. His dad frowned in response.

“Whatever, Dad. Listen.” Stiles took a deep, calming breath. “Whatever you think there is or what has happened, you’re _wrong_. We _really_ were just studying. You know Lydia … you know Lydia and Jackson were …”

His father’s face darkened and he nodded. “Yes,” he admitted and cleared his throat. “Terrible stuff.” He glowered at the leftovers of his toast on his plate. Stiles knew he was thinking about how Jackson’s corpse had vanished out of the hospital’s morgue and how the police department had been unable to find any traces and even less clues about who could’ve done it and _why_. The Whittemores had been truly upset. His father had been truly sorry.

“So, we were just,” Stiles waved his hand before letting it slap down onto his thigh, “just studying, really.”

“Isn’t she like the top student of the school?” His dad questioned, shaking himself out of his dark thoughts.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed. “And I’m not too bad myself, if I dare say so, even if no one will _ever_ be able to match up with the genius that is her. But, y’know, she’s been through … stuff. And. I guess. Together you’re a bit less … on your own.”

The sheriff was silent for a few moments. “You’re a good kid, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugged uncomfortably, poking his fork around in his eggs.

“I’m glad you have Scott.” His dad cleared his throat again and Stiles felt his heart clench. What was this breakfast? What was with this sudden emotional tumult and concessions? Where did they suddenly come from? “Always have been. Even if you two act a bit weirder than normal in the past few weeks.”

“We’re not acting weird! We’re just … _readjusting_.”

“You’re sharing the same bed,” his father reminded him, raising a single brow and taking up his toast again.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not the biggest bed.”

“We’re _fine_.”

“You’re weird,” his father answered, regarding him doubtfully, but there was no bite to his words. He took a bite of his cooled toast.

An awkward silence settled over them as they resumed eating. It was awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. This had been good. This had been necessary. This had been … _interaction_. Stiles had missed it. Just then as he sat there and devoured the rest of his scrambled eggs he realised how much he missed talking to his dad, how much he missed _his dad_ and caring for him and _relying_ on him. He sighed as he watched his parent consume his breakfast.

“Is that _white_ bread?”

The sheriff groaned.

 

×××

 

"So we're just gonna release them?"

"D said so,” his twin brother’s voice sounded suddenly from somewhere behind him.

"And what he says is law?!" Aiden inquired, whirling around.

Ethan stared at him incredulously. "He is the oldest and most experienced of us. He's _the alpha_ of the alpha pack." He sighed, obviously pained by the complaining brute that was his brother. "Get it into your thick head already, Aiden." Ethan abruptly turned, stepping closer. "We've come so far, so young ... don't mess it up now."

 

×××

 

Stiles returned upstairs to his room to grab his school bag and was greeted by the sight of one leather-clad Derek Hale lounging in his desk chair.

“I got your message.”

 

×××

 

Scott woke up to the feeling of soft curls tickling his cheek and someone breathing against his neck.

“Isaac,” he groaned. “You’re heavy.”

Isaac whimpered in reply.

“Get up. School.”

 

×××

 

“No, you won’t drive me. Why would you drive me? I got my own car! Also, what would my dad think if I just left the jeep here, what is he supposed to think how I got to school? And back?” Stiles flipped Derek off, shaking his head at the alpha’s stubborn dumbassness.

“Just meet up with us during lunch or something, creep your way onto the school grounds like you always do.”

Derek gritted his teeth before he finished glaring at Stiles and leaped out the window.

“Later, then.” Stiles mumbled, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

 

×××

 

Scott stormed towards him as Stiles was heading for the main entrance. The werewolf slung a strong arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, his hailing reminding Stiles of a tail-wagging puppy. Stiles allowed himself a joyful grin as he wrapped his arm around Scott’s waist to return the squeezing. Interlaced like that they continued walking, Isaac trailing after them.

They met Lydia in the hallway – Stiles had the faint suspicion that she had been waiting for them – greeting them with a short and self-evident: “I got the translations.”

 

They met at the bleachers. To Stiles’ amazement Derek had actually brought food as Stiles’ had told him to in a frantic text message he’d sent out during Math – because just then he’d realized if they’d actually use up their lunch break for the Against Alpha Packs project then they wouldn’t be able to eat in the cafeteria.

“Man, thank you so much!” Stiles cheered and rushed towards Derek to rip the big, steaming paper bags out of his warm, living hands.

It seemed the alpha-ass was making an effort. Nice.

After they had settled down and Stiles had thoroughly embarrassed everyone with his sinful curly-fries-appreciation-moaning, Lydia spoke up.

“I finished the translations. I’ll give you a short and to the point summary.” She kept holding her burger delicately in one hand and rummaged in her bag with the other, pulling out a dark red folder. “But,” she pressed it up against her chest, “let’s finish eating first.”

And so they ate.

 

After every piece of fat-dripping junk food had been consumed and the wrapper remains had been stuffed into the paper bags, Lydia wiped her hands on a tissue and opened the folder.

“Disappointingly the bestiary did not hold as much information as I had hoped but,” she took a breath, “ _still_ , it has been quite insightful.”

The atmosphere was tense as they all shuffled to sit in a closer circle in the grass behind the bleachers, secluded from view.

“First of all, Derek’s information of the alpha pack being some kind of vigilante group has been attested. But travelling around and controlling if … werewolves are abiding the rules and – in case of delinquency – punishing them, isn’t their main purpose.”

They were all listening intently. Derek was leaning forward, stone-faced.

“The alpha pack is a very old, very _traditional_ constitution. You could even say it’s some kind of _cult_. They see it as their duty to test other alphas’ abilities, especially those of stray ones,” she paused, glancing at Derek, “alphas that came to their powers through other circumstances than the commonly family inheritance. It is their purpose in life to … guard the ‘honour’ of alphas. They believe it is their right to decide if someone is worthy. And those who are not … _are slain_.” She glanced at the words printed on the papers in her folder. Her voice got more quiet with each word. “The hunters don’t mess with them because while they’re volatile they keep their distance to humans and they rarely leave an alpha alive. For them, it’s a win-win.”

They were stunned into silence.

“B-But, Derek is a _Hale_ and in that sense he inherited the Hale-Alpha position, what’s the problem with that?” Stiles protested, his eyes wide and voice squeaky.

“Because I was not the chosen heir. I was not to succeed.” Derek’s voice was low and sounded terrifyingly fragile. “I was neither born nor prepared for this.”

“But how would they even know that it is _you_ who’s the alpha now?”

“Laura’s death is officially registered. Mine is not. I am most likely alive.”

“That doesn’t proof anything!” Isaac protested, not grasping everything that was being implied but he was freaked out all the more.

Derek sighed. “Trust me. In their eyes, everything points to me.”

“Can’t you run?” Scott offered.

“They’d hunt me down.” Derek closed his eyes, face ashen and mouth tight. He inhaled sharply, collecting himself before he choked out one last confession. “I can’t do this on my own.”

“You’re not on your own.” Scott promised gently and his fingertips hesitantly brushed the leather covering Derek’s forearm before he wrapped his hand around it. Stiles’ eyes were glued to this friendly gesture as Scott held on until Derek slightly relaxed against his touch.

 

Lunch was going to be over soon. “Fine, I’ve a few more bits and pieces of information but we can go over them this afternoon,” Lydia stated matter-of-factly.

“I got some ideas for defence and offence.” Stiles added. “What about you guys, got any luck last night?”

“We found some good places,” Isaac nodded, “made a list.”

“Give it to Derek. So he’ll have something to do.” Stiles suggested and Scott began digging in his backpack. “They went out looking for abandoned places convenient for fighting or retreat. Maybe you could take a look at them?” He addressed the alpha. “And add your own input and stuff?”

Derek still looked sick but he nodded with determination.

“Good. Then we’ll meet up at your place after school. We’ll fill you in. Fill each other in. On everything.” Stiles decided.

They got to their feet.

“We have to start drawing up first basic plans and procedures on how to deal with the real thing.” He stated, feeling weak-limbed and overwhelmed once again.

“Agreed,” Lydia chimed in, “we don’t know how much longer we have.”

Scott handed Derek a crumpled piece of paper as the school bell rang. The alpha jerked his chin and then abruptly turned on his heels and vanished in the woods.

Stiles felt a stinging sensation in his eyes as they walked back towards the school building wondering how they were supposed to make it out of this alive.

 

×××

 

It smelled. No, it didn’t smell. It _stank_. It stank like blood and sweat and gasoline. The scents jabbed her sensitive nose but still did nothing to clear the fog that was obscuring her mind. She blinked, tears staining her face. Salt. A new, sad and very faint scent adding itself into the mix that constantly made her empty stomach churn. She looked about, trying to make sense of what little she could see. There was Boyd beside her, unconscious and breathing shallow. She tried to remember where she was. How they had ended up here. Something sparked up in the back of her head and she tried to grasp it, she was nearly there – a door fell closed and she gasped. He was back. Panic took hold of her and she began hyperventilating, a familiar prickling sensation in her limbs signalising the possibility of a seizure.

A stinging pain forced a choked sob out of her throat and then everything went black.

 

×××

 

“They won’t be of much help.” Kali shrugged and Aiden could hear the click-click of her claws softly colliding with the ground as she wandered around the room. “It’s not much of a loss. For either sides.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finally the alpha pack has been introduced! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this one. There's _a lot_ more to come. And on a sidenote, 10 more days to go till the apocalypse! Whoo!
> 
> I updated all the timelines with bigger-sized versions and I am in the progress in changing the colour-y stuff to make them more readable. Aaand here is the good, big, readable version of [timeline for chapter 8](http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/345/4/4/ffchap8_by_caristia-d5nrh4a.png)
> 
> If you want you can drop by my [tumblr](http://caristia.tumblr.com/), say hi, maybe reblog [the post about this fic](http://caristia.tumblr.com/post/34807513712/youve-adapted-well-stiles-observes-pausing/).
> 
> Also! There will be a **_Sciles week_** running from Dec 26 to Jan 2! [Check it out!](http://scottstilesweek.tumblr.com/) Participate! ;)  
>  Also²! Sciles recently got his own [fuckyeahtumblr](http://fuckyeahsciles.tumblr.com/)! Go follow! :D
> 
>  
> 
> _THIS IS A GOOD MONTH FOR SCILES._
> 
>  
> 
> Share the love and leave me some thoughts!  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated~
> 
> Beta'ed by Azur! Any mistakes are still my own.


	9. Them

“You don’t even play baseball!”

 

Scott grimaced, pursing his lower lip in a way that was way too adorable and puppy-like. Stiles, slightly offended by Scott’s affrontment, blew up his cheeks in a comical way before snorting the air out and heaving an exaggerated sigh. Scott watched the movement of Stiles’ chest with mild interest.

“You don’t even _like_ it!” The buzzhead continued.

“Eh, I do!” Scott protested, raising his hands in half-hearted protest. “Kinda.”

“But _not_ as much as me!”

“Well, fair point.” Scott replied, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and blinking up at Stiles who animatedly swung the bat around. The sight caused Scott’s guts to clench in horror. He quickly eyed the contents of his room, the loved, breakable ones within reach of Stiles and his tool-of-possible-destruction. He looked back to Stiles swinging his TOP D. Scott frowned at his name creation and slightly shook his head before he concentrated back on preventing chaos.

“Stiles,” he said carefully in a placatory voice, getting up from where he had been sitting at the foot of his bed.

“What is it?” Stiles wheeled around in an ungraceful pirouette and Scott ducked out of the way and averted a surely hurtful collision between wood and shoulder. Stiles continued the exertion of his samurai skills; the huffed noises of Asian fight sounds leaving his lips were getting louder. “Hiijaah! HAH!”

Scott rolled his eyes in fond exasperation before making use of his werewolf-y reflexes. His hand lashed out and curled around the middle of the bat. The abrupt halt to his doings had Stiles gasping.

“Be careful,” Scott’s voice was quiet, a certain low, growly but still gentle ring to it. Scott added pressure to his grip and made Stiles lower his –

“ _Batana!_ ” Stiles cried in a dramatic voice, letting go of the wooden stick. “You know if this had been a real batana you totally would’ve cut your hand and–“

“Isn’t the point of a batana being a _batana_ aka it’s _a bat_? Used as a katana?” Scott asked. “So _this_ would be an actual batana?” He added, dropping the core of the discussion onto his comforter.

“Uh,” Stiles answered, executing his open-mouth-syndrome, narrowing his eyes at Scott’s sharpness. “ _Weeell_ , we don’t actually know what defines ‘batana’ _for real_ quite yet, so, uh – I’m just gonna drop this topic _now_.” Stiles was actually full-on pouting.

Scott chuckled and shrugged. Stiles tilted his head to the side and licked his lips slowly, thoughtfully. Scott’s chuckle died.

Stiles studied the wooden floor tiles, the tip of his foot tapping a fast and irregular rhythm.

Scott blinked, dry-mouthed. He shifted uncomfortably and Stiles lifted his head.

“So can I have it now or what?”

“Sure,” Scott croaked instantly, awkwardly clearing his throat after on. Stiles just raised an eyebrow at the sudden awkwardness in the air and inhaled lowly.

“OKAY, thanks!” He suddenly cheered loudly, grabbed the bat and stormed out of the room.

Scott had flinched in place and now stood there, frozen to the spot, slumping his shoulders and groaning. He hung his head and covered his eyes with a hand.

“Must be … the moon?” He silently questioned his room before dropping himself onto his bed, face-first.

×××

Something tugged inside him, having Derek snapping to attention. Caught off guard he looked around, eyes wide and slightly frantic. Again. He felt a pull. He jumped to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground. Lydia stared up at his frame, her gaze startled and questioning.

“What –“ She began to speak but Derek ignored her. He puffed his chest, eyes bleeding red.

“ _They’re here_.” He growled lowly. Inhuman. Lydia gasped as Derek turned on his heels while wolfing out and storming out the backdoor, throwing it open with such force that he ripped the top hinges out of their sockets in the wall.

Lydia stared after him. She hadn’t even noticed how’d she gotten up on her own feet, letting her book drop back onto the table. Her face was contorted into a mask of confusion and incredulity, her lips parted as she drew in a long, shaky breath. She lifted her hands, stroking strands of hair out of her face and behind her ears. She closed her eyes, continuing a calming breathing pattern and ignoring the rushed beating of her heart. She lifted her chin in defiance.

“Isaac.” Her voice came out strong and clear. Isaac was already standing behind her, surely drawn downstairs by the crash of the backdoor hitting the wall. Lydia felt golden eyes gleaming at her back and she turned. Narrowing her own eyes, she tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. Isaac stared back at her, frowning (as much as one could frown with those wolfy faces), tense. Waiting.

With a hairband she’d slung around her wrist earlier she hefted her long locks up into a ponytail.

“It’s started,” she sighed. “And I guess your alpha’s just running straight into their arms.”

Isaac whimpered and Lydia flipped out her phone. “That was so _not_ included in any plans,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head at her own idiocy. She should’ve calculated in Derek’s reactions to feeling the presence of other alphas, of _the_ Alphas – should’ve calculated in his inexperience and the possibility of his instincts overwhelming him. Lydia threw a last glance back at the doorframe and the door that was about to fall off its hinges.

“Do something about it,” she ordered and waved a hand as she lifted her other to her ear, the phone already dialing.

Isaac forced the door back into its frame without using much effort. But his veins were thrumming with the need, the _duty_ , to go after his alpha, so he needed every other ounce of strength to keep himself from doing so. No solos. They had made rules for a reason.

“Stiles is not picking up. Scott’s on his way.” Lydia’s voice only wavered a bit with worry before she grabbed two of the pre-packed bags and threw one into Isaac’s chest as he walked over.

“Let’s head out.”

×××

They met at one of the meeting places they’d scouted out between their base and Scott’s house.

Scott quickly scrambled out between a few bushes when Isaac and Lydia got out of the car.

“Where’s Stiles?” She demanded, riled up.

“I don’t know! Last I saw him was a while ago, when he stormed outta my room with his batana!” Scott answered hastily.

Isaac just scrunched up his face while Lydia raised an eyebrow.

“B-But I think he’s fine.” He looked worried but still seemed sure of what he was saying. However he could be sure of that. Lydia didn’t care.

“Well, _great_ ,” she stated exasperated, “we’re already down to three with no idea where our other teammates went _before_ shit has even started to go down. _Fantastic._ ” Lydia felt slightly frantic. Had all their planning been a waste?

Scott gulped and slumped his shoulders. “What do we do?” He asked in a tiny voice.

Lydia reigned her anger in. “Well, first we gotta catch our alpha, preferably _before_ he’s ripped to shreds.”

“Would kinda defeat the purpose.” Isaac added weakly as they all hurried into Lydia’s car.

×××

Derek felt it pulsing in his veins and it was deafening. It was blinding. He felt like he was about to explode out of his own body, something itching in every limb, every fucking _cell_ , scratching at the surface from below, demanding to break out. The surge of power was overwhelming.

He couldn’t think. He could not form _one_ coherent thought. He just kept running, the floor flying beneath his feet, beneath his hands. He just kept running. Running towards where?

He supposed towards the location of the other alphas, their trespassing over into his territory having caused some kind of short circuit in his brain.

He knew it was a bad idea. He knew he shouldn’t. Shouldn’t do whatever he was about to do. Whatever he _was_ doing right now. It was wrong. He blinked. It seemed conscious thought was coming back to him. He found he was able to will his body to slow down.

He was getting familiar with the constant power-kick he was experiencing. He was fighting for control. He could do it. He _had to_.

Derek broke through a group of young trees onto a clearing, stumbling to a halt – and that’s when he saw them.

×××

“Stiles! C’mon! Pick _up_!” Scott moaned into his phone but again, only the voicemail answered him.

Lydia was racing her car through the streets, Isaac directing her towards where he still could feel Derek’s presence. Thank god that, while still kind of hitting them unprepared, the defence-mechanism had the advantage of apparently strengthening the bond between alpha and beta and raising their awareness of each other. At least that’s what Lydia thought a possible explanation.

They screeched to a halt at the border of the Beacon Hill’s preserve. Lydia gripped the steering wheel tightly. Her mind was in turmoil.

Isaac was clawing at the handle of her sidedoor but she ignored it – for now. Scott seemed about ready to jump through the roof of her car, despite all the metal in his way.

“Good,” Lydia said aloud into the silence, accompanied by werewolf-y snuffling. It was eerie. “Isaac you’ll lead us to where Derek is.” Apparently he was still alive or else Isaac would’ve not been able to feel him. “We have to be careful. Trying to sneak as close as we can without them noticing us.” With a pack of alphas? Well, they’d have to wait and see how _that_ would work out. Or not. “We gotta create some confusion, distraction, grab Derek and get outta there.”

“I liked the other plans better,” Isaac complained.

“Well, yeah. Me, too.” Lydia admitted before she undid her seatbelt and got out of her car.

She was quite sure that everyone liked their organized, thought-through and detailed plans so much better than this. But they hadn’t quite prepared for such a scenario. And how could they have? After all they didn’t quite know what was coming on to them and in the end all that counted was how well they handled it when the real thing was there. Which it was now, finally.

Lydia was sure that they all felt kind of relieved that the waiting was over. Some say that the anticipation is always way worse than the thing itself. She hoped it was true in their case.

Fifteen minutes later they were quietly hurrying through the woods, leaving the muddy car track behind them. Lydia slipped a dark brown glass bottle out of her backpack as she walked between the two werewolves. Both were tense, claws at the ready and surveying their environment. It was unusually quiet in the woods and a thin fog was hovering between the tree trunks. Lydia felt her heart running in her chest as she held the perfume-bottle-turned-molotov more tightly. They were careful in their movements, the ground wet and thick with leaves.

All three startled when Scott’s ringtone shattered the damp silence of the wood.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So soooorry for the delay! But I'm back - with a short chapter - to let you know the story is not abandoned! ~~I'll do my best to let this not happen again and I'll try to update _way_ more frequently in the future, so please bear with me! :) As I bear with real life, sigh. ;)~~
> 
> BIG SMOOCHY-CUDDLY THANKS TO AZUR for quickly beta'ing this like a champ, despite having no time and DUDE, YOU'RE CRAZY. LET ME LOVE YOU. :*
> 
> I'll update the timeline for this chap at a later point.


	10. Reunited

> “Send them out, send them out … our little harbingers of doom.”
> 
>  
> 
> He was tall and his presence was overbearing.  Aiden still got the creeps whenever he was left alone with him for too long. _Deucalion_.
> 
>  
> 
> “We’ve extracted all available information.” And the way Deucalion had lifted his fingers and was now twirling it next to his temple – claw out, bloody – they _knew_.
> 
> “But now I am even more curious,” the werewolf continued, his voice quiet and gentle. “How come a _born_ Hale has proven himself to be so _un_ worthy and inapt?” He tutted, slowly shaking his head as he paced the room like the predator he was. “Such _dis_ appointment.”
> 
> Deucalion smiled in a way that made Aiden want to cower and run away at the same time. There was something off about him, something smelly.
> 
>  
> 
> On several occasions he’d told his brother about it. “I smell crazy.” He’d declared a few weeks in. Ethan had just observed him warily before he continued reading his books.
> 
>  
> 
> As time passed he’d reduced his remarks to such jargon as simply mumbling ‘cray-cray’, although you really did not need to be a genius to figure that one out. Aiden also doubted that Deucalion was _not_ up to date, despite his name and everything.
> 
> And just standing there, watching Deucalion soundlessly, emotionlessly and motionlessly cackling to himself (he wasn’t actually cackling but Aiden was pretty sure that he was cackling _in his head_ ) Aiden felt a chill run down his spine. Ethan nudged his side and they left Deucalion and Kali to release the two betas chained to the radiators in the cellar. The door fell shut behind the twins.
> 
>  
> 
> “The Hale family used to be such a prestigious family. But all the glory has been burned and what is left is his sole, miserable existence.” Deucalion made a dramatic pause, sighing in an almost ‘traditionally unmanly’ fashion. “What a shameful heir. But that’s what we’re here for.” His eyes blazed. “ _Ashes to ashes_.”
> 
> Arms behind his back, slender fingers circled around his own wrist he stared down onto the open fireplace, dusty and unused, the ground littered with ash.
> 
>  
> 
> “Kali.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yes?”
> 
>  
> 
> He kept gazing upon the fireplace, eyes wide with anticipation.
> 
>  
> 
> “Make sure our messengers reach their destination … _safely_.”

×××

Lydia had flinched hard and only just barely withstood the urge to throw her modified perfume bottle at Scott – which might have had to do with the fact that he was still standing right next to her.

“Are you serious?!” She hissed through her teeth, punching his shoulder, _hard_. She couldn’t believe this idiot had left his phone on and now he’d gave them away, now they were done for –

“It’s Derek!” Scott exclaimed, amazed. In his first shock he’d quickly whipped out his phone and denied the call. And while Lydia had started punching him and Isaac had been anxiously observing their surroundings he’d unlocked his screen and realised – “It’s him!”

He called back.

Derek answered instantly.

“ _I got them_ ,” he breathed into the phone, his voice so full of relief, so full of _emotions_ that Scott had to take the phone away from his ear and stare at the caller ID to make sure he hadn’t misdialed.

“I got them!” They heard Derek repeat his words – or at least Isaac and Scott did since Lydia had no super werewolf hearing. The phone was pressed back up against Scott’s cheek and he spluttered: “Got who?!”

“I got them, I got – I got _Erica and Boyd_!”

Scott and Isaac exchanged glances before they stormed forwards.

“Hey!” Lydia exclaimed enraged. “What’s going on?! What is – _wait!_ ” She swore and took off after the two wereidiots, determined to kill them as soon as she had caught up. _This isn’t happening_ , she thought anxiously.

 

Luckily the clearing where they’d run off to wasn’t too far from where they’d been before and luckily Lydia didn’t lose her sense of direction. When she breached the bushes a very peculiar sight opened up before her.

Derek was kneeling on the ground, Erica and Boyd cradled close to his chest, Isaac and Scott approaching the alpha warily. Derek was wolfed out and snarling at the two intruders and the two betas reflected his glowing eyes with their own.

×××

The door burst open and Stiles did a double take before he whirled around, palm pressed to his chest. “What the –?!”

He could inquire no further since a very warm and overexcited human-shaped puppy jumped him and eager limbs wrapped around his own causing the teen to stumble backwards.

“Scott?!” Stiles yelped, his hands uselessly searching for purchase while his tailbone painfully connected with the basin he’d been standing in front.  
“ _Stiles!_ ” Scott nuzzled his face into the crook of his best friend’s neck. “Stiles! You’re here!”

“Yes, _obviously_ I am!” Stiles replied, his efforts to pry the McCall boy off him in vain. “What’s the matter with you, dude?”

“Nothin’, was just worried,” Scott exhaled against flushed skin, sending an uncomfortable shiver down Stiles’ spine. “The alphas came and –“

“What?” His voice was high-pitched and shocked as Stiles went still in Scott’s arms.

“They’re … _here_?”

Finally, Scott let go off him. His goofy expression morphing into one of all-serious-business. “Yeah. They were. Still are?”

“Why didn’t you– ,“ Stiles interrupted himself and leaped over to a chair where he’d thrown his jacket and backpack on, pulling out his phone.

“We couldn’t rea–“

“Yes, I’ve – I’ve no reception down here.” Stiles sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck.” He looked up. “So, what happened?”

“We found Erica and Boyd.”

“They delivered them,” Derek corrected Scott through gritted teeth, startling Stiles once more with the rage-dripping sound of his voice.

“D-delivered?” Stiles repeated incredulously before he turned to face him, seeing Erica hanging limply in the alpha’s arms. “Oh dear _shit_!”

Boyd was staggering behind him, disoriented, exhausted, _injured_ ; Isaac was at his side, propping him up.

“The alpha pack,” Stiles began, face ashen, “kidnapped Erica and Boyd? Why? What did they –“

“They’ve been tortured and interrogated,” Deaton’s calm voice sounded from the short hallway in which the stairs descended. “Most likely their memories have been forcefully intercepted, if not taken or altered.”

Deaton stepped into the room and walked over to a big cupboard, opening it quickly und pulling out a bunch of blankets and pillows. He spread them out in an unoccupied corner of the room.

“They need medical attention!” Stiles breathed without much breath at all since he felt like there was not enough air to drown the panic in his lungs.

“I examined them,” Deaton answered, ever calm if not with a sharp glint to his gaze. “What they need now is _rest_. And _pack_.”

Derek had gently lowered Erica onto the makeshift bed and was helping Isaac to put down Boyd now.

“They need a bath, fresh clothes, food,” supplied Lydia’s voice matter-of-factly. She stepped into the room, her eyes quickly adjusting its contents, the various instruments littered over the surfaces of metal tables and cupboards. “What about their parents? Do we send them home afterwards? _Can_ we send them home?”

“We’ll have to know about the extent of implications caused by their time away first.”

Lydia nodded as Stiles open-mouthedly watched the werewolves starting to puppy-pile around their injured.

Lydia eyed the people in the room before fitfully twitching her head to the side, making her ponytail sway. “Stiles, we have things to take care of.” Stiles nodded numbly and turned to go but Derek interrupted them.

“Take Scott with you. Be careful. We don’t know –“

“I know,” Stiles rasped.

“But I think they’re not near, not right now.” Derek’s voice was quiet and devoid of any emotion.

The three of them left the room while Stiles blinked rapidly to rid himself of the images of battered bodies burned into his mind.

×××

“How horrible,” he mustered as he steered his jeep onto the parking lot of Walmart. “So they ran away from one captor only to end in the arms of the next.”

“We need detergent, too,” Lydia marked casually. “There is blood all over my seats.”

“Speaking of blood,” Stiles piped up, staring at Scott in his backview mirror, sitting stiffly in the backseat. “You do realize that your shirt is a mess of dirt _and_ blood, right?”

Lydia flapped down the sunshield and studied her own reflection in the little mirror embedded in it. The corners of her lips twitched downward before she brought a finger up, quickly wetting the tip with a dart of her tongue to then calmly rub at a red stain on her cheekbone. “Got any spare clothes for him?” She asked unperturbed, throwing Stiles a sideward glance and nicking her head back toward Scott.

“Uh,” Stiles spluttered, weirdly distracted by Lydia’s not-hysterical demeanour which hit him as dreadfully attractive, especially since he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin.

As if smelling the slight spike of arousal in the air, Scott punched Stiles’ side.

“Ge’me your lacrosse shirt,” he mumbled gruffly while Stiles just gaped at him open-mouthedly, indignantly rubbing his side.

“You have your training clothes in your trunk, I can _smell_ it.”

Stiles was slightly put off that Scott looked and sounded so sourly about this fact, had he not just recently poetically waxed about how even a sweaty Stiles was a good smelling Stiles. With a last glance at Lydia – her clothes seemed to be in acceptable condition to go out – he nodded and got out of the car.

×××

There was a tang in the air that didn’t sit well with Derek. It stung in his nose and tasted awfully ashen in the back of his throat.

“What is this,” he mumbled slightly agitated, his eyes scanning the room for the potential threat. He dipped his chin down and sniffed at blonde locks. No. This wasn’t it. Erica smelled like exhaustion and pain, dried salts and blood.

He shifted and leant up on one elbow. “I smell wolfsbane,” he declared. It was not something unusual to smell or come upon in Doctor Deaton’s clinic but this scent was so penetrating and persistent that Derek deemed it as not the usual.

Isaac blinked up at him from where he had awkwardly wrapped his lanky limbs around Boyd, wanting to hold him close but also wary of pressing against any injuries and bruises and the like.

Derek hadn’t noticed at first, too distracted and busy transporting his pups to safety and tending to their broken bodies. But now that things had calmed down a bit and the thrumming of the alpha effect was finally easing out of his system, Derek’s mind and senses had cleared up enough to pick up on the stench. The unwelcome smell was wafting through the room. Derek hastily got up in a rush of blurry yet still gracefully coordinated movements, mindful of the vulnerable pups to his feet. With purpose he strode over to where he could make out the scent originating from. In front of the big sink he paused and froze, staring down at the basin filled to the brim with water. It was murky and not quite see-through, different shades of dirty grey swirling through the liquid. He nearly choked on the intensity of concentrated wolfsbane that hit him straight in the nostrils once he leant over the sink curiously. He stumbled back tasting it on his tongue and reflexively gulping.

“ _Stiles!_ ” He barked angrily. “What have you done?!”

Snarling Derek snapped his arm up about to delve into the monstrosity of polluted water to pull the plug and exterminate the threat.

Instantly a clawed hand wrapped tightly around his forearm and only barely managed to prevent his fingertips from breaking the surface.

“Derek,” Isaac breathed insistently. Derek relaxed in his betas grip and – stepping back – turned to face him.

“You’re overreacting,” Isaac murmured, unsettled. His eyes weren’t meeting Derek’s gaze, rather studying the broad sink and then his eyes widened in understanding. “Look!” He pointed at a thin metal staff sticking out from behind the faucet. Cautiously he reached out and pulled it. A plopping noise, muffled by the water, sounded and soon the two wolves could hear the familiar blubbering of water rushing down the drain.

They both watched as the water level sank and a dark, slick gleaming bat emerged from the wet, resting on the bottom of the sink.

Isaac raised one expressive eyebrow and quickly turned to look at Derek, his alpha, who wore his usual stoically blank but still kind of constipated expression as he mustered the piece of wood.

“What the hell,” he growled exasperatedly, “is that supposed to _be?_ ”

×××

They left the cashpoints behind them, Lydia pocketing her credit card and Stiles pushing the cart while Scott trailed beside him. Lydia had whirled through the market as an epitome of efficiency and determination, the two boys barely able to keep up with her.

Now they were silently crossing the parking lot, each to their own thoughts. After they’d quickly stashed their purchase in the back of the car and the last door had slammed shut behind them Lydia cleared her throat.

“Okay, from now on, no solos. No ‘no reception’,” she pointedly narrowed her eyes at Stiles. “If you’re running off to somewhere with no reception, at least shoot a text message first.”

Stiles had his arms crossed in front of his chest, pulling his shoulders up in defence and ducking his head. “Yes, ma’m.”

“You’re the one who was so vigorous with his ‘calling’ and ‘texting’, remember?” Lydia jeered indignantly. “Anyways. We also may have to consider putting our dear Derek on a leash. Or else our alpha might go bailing out on us _again_ the next time the Alpha Pack breaches the territory borders.”

“He did what?” Stiles asked incredulously.

“Go easy on him,” Scott sounded from the back, quietly. “It was his first time, I suspect.”

“So that’s excuseable then?” Lydia replied tight-lipped.

“It’s comprehensible. Don’t be angry just because you’re annoyed that you forgot to _calculate_ it in.”

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen again,” Stiles threw in hastily, his chest clenching in fear at the glare Lydia was treating Scott with and turned the key in the ignition. “One time is none time, am I right?”

×××

Returning to the veterinary clinic they woke Erica and Boyd from their peaceful slumbers but both were still unintelligible to any kind of communication. Under Lydia’s guidance and Deaton’s assistance they washed them and treated their wounds before wrapping them in new, soft clothes and tucking them back under the blankets.

 

Now they had gathered in the examination room and Stiles was scandalized.

“Lydia! You can’t drive home on your own!”

Lydia rolled her eyes and studied her manicured nails. “I’ll be careful.”

“What if a 400 pounds werewolf jumps up against your windshield, how are you gonna be _careful_ up against that?!”

“I’m sure they’ll handle the situation more delicately,” Lydia groaned and shook her red mane. “From every single one present here, in their eyes I am still the one most uninvolved, am I not? And we are of an uneven number, to stay in pairs at all times just cannot be done.” She raised her hand holding her keys and jiggled them. “So I’ll be off then. Be careful everyone! Good night.” And with that she simply rushed out the room. No one moved to stop her.

“Yes, you should be very careful,” Deaton stated, flapping the papers back onto the flipchart he’d been studying. “We don’t know about the possible consequences.” Derek was glowering at the tiles to his feet while the others stood around them in uncomfortable silence. “We don’t know what happened to them, how it happened to them … if they’ll ever return to be normal again.”

Stiles inhaled sharply through his nose. Deaton continued quietly, insinuating each word with a sense of urgency. “Maybe they get back up their feet and brush it off as well as they can. Or maybe … maybe you’ve got to expect the worst.” He stepped in front of Derek. “I just want you to be prepared.”

“They’re strong,” Scott spoke up suddenly, his voice full of hopeful conviction. “They’ll make it, I swear.”

“Yes,” Stiles piped in, his voice serious, “they’re stubborn. They just gotta sleep it out.” Deaton tilted his head before he nodded – which in his case also was used as a type of discharge because he turned and casually followed Lydia’s example of leaving the room.

“Don’t worry, big guy,” Stiles spoke loudly before he stalked over and slapped Derek’s back comfortingly, “just get back down there, puppy-pile some more and all be good.”

Isaac snorted somewhere in the background and finally Derek turned to face Stiles slowly, veins in his thick neck protruding dangerously.

“It might have slipped your mind that we have a bunch of alphas –“

“ – after _your ass_ , yes, I know,” Stiles interrupted in a sudden surge of confidence, “I’m not _that_ scatterbrained.”

“But we’re with you, buddy.”

At the sound of Scott’s voice Derek snapped his head around, a haunted look on his face.

“You’re not alone,” Scott smiled comfortingly and shrugged a shoulder up, sheepish, “We’re in this together.”

“Wow,” Isaac instantly pondered, wiping a curl from his forehead, “that sounded cheesy.”

“Anyone else also got a sudden urge to watch and sing High School Musical?” Stiles asked hopefully.

“I can’t believe you!” Scott exclaimed in a whining, disappointed tone. “You totally ruined the moment!”

“High School Musical?” Derek inquired with a carefully blank expression, finally breaking eye contact with Scott while Stiles and Isaac broke out into an uproar of hysterical laughter.

×××

“I don’t feel like going to school is normal,” Stiles pressed out, rubbing his sweaty palms dry on his boxershorts.

“But it is,” Scott replied smoothly, a small worry line creasing his forehead despite his words.

“I feel like going, seeking them, blowing their wits out – I feel like that is what we _should_ be doing. Settling the matter now, once and for all,” he paused to take a shallow breath, “I feel like that’s _normal_.”

“School,” Scott repeated in a calm voice, a few nuances deeper than what Stiles was used to hearing and it did funny things to his stomach. “School it is.”

“I vote against this so called normalcy,” Stiles replied drily. Scott only laughed and kicked his bag into a corner of the room before he left for the bathroom.

×××

“Isaac told me you bathed my bat in wolfsbane?”

Stiles paused reading and looked up to see Scott standing in his doorway, leaning against the frame. He’d been so engrossed in Lydia’s translations again that he hadn’t even heard the door opening. Scott was clad in only a towel, freshly showered and skin still damp and hair hanging wetly in his forehead.

“Uh?” Stiles replied smoothly.

“You could’ve just asked, you know?” Scott elaborated, pushing himself off the wooden frame. “I might’ve given it to you permanently.” Scott raised an eyebrow and smiled secretively. It felt as if all air had been sucked out of the room.

“Whad’you mean, ‘permanently’?” Stiles inquired, shuffling the papers in his lap.

“Well, apparently you really seem to want it,” Scott answered matter-of-factly.

“Y-Your bat?” Now it was Stiles’ turn to raise his brows but he didn’t really manage to override his fluttering nerves. He didn’t know if he was imagining it but Scott’s eyes seemed to glint before he shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah, I mean. You. Soaked it. In. Wolfsbane.”

Stiles scoffed.

“Well, it’s not like you ever touched it. It doesn’t actually make a difference, don’t you think?”

Scott pursed his lips in a pout. “But before I would’ve been able to. Now I can’t!”

“Are you here to bemoan your loss in my presence?” Stiles complained playfully. “How annoying!”

“No,” Scott warned him cheerily, “I’m here to take you to bed!” And with that he pounced forward manhandling Stiles out of his desk chair and into the direction of the bed. They fell hard onto the mattress in a tumble of flailing limbs and half-worded protests on Stiles’ part. In their grinding struggle mixed with choked laughter and half-indecent groans they actually managed to roll over the edge of the bed – Scott landing atop of his friend knocking all the air out of Stiles in a heartbeat. Moaning in pain said one batted at Scott’s shoulder, wedged in between the wooden floor and the hard planes of Scott’s muscled body as he was.

“Despite _everything_ I still sometimes doubt that you’re a freakin’ werewolf, you sorry excuse of an uncoordinated werepuppy!”

×××

Deucalion clapped his hands together in glee. He threw his hands up in a swift motion before he flicked on a match and held it high and close to his face. The glint of the little flame reflected in his maddened eyes. “Time to set the game aflame.”

And he threw the match and then, quite literally, everything went up in flames.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am terribly sorry about the horrible delay. I won't list any excuses, just let me tell you again, this story is not abandoned and as I said before, I will see it through to the end. :) 
> 
> I was really happy about the rare subscriptions and comments I got in the last few months _although_ IKYKIK was on hold. Thank you so much for your kind words! I really, really appreciated them! They also greatly helped me along to finally get a headstart into writing this fic again! I am looking forward to dive back in and to finally get things rolling again. So keep it up! ;) There's still so much waiting to happen! xx
> 
> Aaand of course, lots of thanks to Azur for betaing for me again, despite of life and all things that come inbetween. Rawr!


	11. Fucking Priorities

“The inner workings of a pack are quite fascinating,” Deucalion purred as he stalked along the property’s borders. “Sadly, since we do not find such a functioning structure here … this won’t take long.”

Kali was leaning against a thick tree trunk, arms crossed and head tilted to the side, her gaze considering. The flames from farther away were illuminating the scenery in a dimmed orange and red light.

“How dull,” Deucalion mourned mockingly, “how dull, indeed.”

Ethan was staring straight ahead into the woods, his back facing the sight of the building and Aiden shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He glanced from his brother to Kali and back to their leader. “Is this is it?” He asked and fought to keep a calm stance because Deucalion was towering above him in the blink of an eye.

“ _This is it_ ,” the elder werewolf repeated and a growling undertone let his words grow more menacing. Leaning towards the shorter alpha he lifted his hand and a single claw began caressing Aidan’s cheek in a circling motion. Aidan scowled up at Deucalion, unwilling to not defy. Deucalion narrowed his maddened eyes before he scoffed and straightened up again, stepping back, “The beginning of the end.”

Aidan blinked and threw his brother a begging glance but Ethan just frowned and twitched his head in a barely visible shake.

“We’re just gonna … annihilate him?”

“We’ve got a rogue alpha and it is our duty to cleanse,” Kali remarked from behind him. She sounded proud.

“We’ve got a rogue alpha and a bunch of lost little omegas,” Deucalion turned his back to the other alphas and opened his arms widely. “Cut the wolf’s throat and herd the little lambs.”

Kali’s posture tensed before she drew up to her full height, raising her chin. “I seek to herd.”

“And herd you will,” Deucalion chuckled lightly. “If everything works out in their favour. And yours.”

Kali nodded tersely.

Aidan took a deep breath, “But shouldn’t we not first have … negotiated?”

Deucalion whirled around, his long, dark leather coat flapping behind him. He bared his elongated fangs at Aiden.

“Their memories spoke truer than any words could ever have. There’s no need for more proof.”

“Easy for you to say, I’ve never seen them,” Aidan replied sourly and crossed his arms.

Deucalion looked furious for a second before his features softened.

“Aidan,” he intoned gently, “there was no need for you to see.” He stepped in front of him again. “But you want to. Do you not?” Deucalion’s eyes were wide as he studied the youth. He tutted before he spoke: “You yearn for it. You are … so curious, so defiant, so … _inexperienced_. How could I resist?”

Ethan stiffened where he stood a little off to Aidan’s right side, nostrils flaring. Aidan withstood the urge to close his eyes and turn tail to just get away. This was where they were supposed to be. This was their way.

“I’ll teach you.”

The promise hung dark in the air between them before Deucalion’s breath grazed Aidan’s face, the prickling sensation distracting him before a claw pierced the skin of his neck. Pain followed.

×××

Derek was aching. He had been used to sleeping on hard, splintered wooden floors, used to cramming his body into his car and waking to neck cramps and overall moodiness; he had been sleeping on old lousy seats, sat through and stained, in an abandoned subway wagon. He had not been sleeping at all, at times. But the last few weeks, _days_ , he’d gotten used to sleeping on a clean, feathery mattress, on a real bed in a fully functional room in a completely intact house. And no matter werewolf healing abilities or not, resting on the cool tiles of a basement with nothing but a few blankets between your body and the floor was still hellishly uncomfortable. But Derek suspected that this didn’t entirely cover the reasons for his aching, not even in the slightest. He could feel it, at the edge of his consciousness, a hesitant tugging and prodding. Earlier he had thrown an arm over the two bodies crumbled between him and Isaac, the skin of his bare arm resting lightly on the junctures where their necks and shoulders connected. Derek had curled around their upper bodies while Isaac had protectively covered the rest with his own.

Derek could feel their pulses beating softly against his skin, and his own veins pumped black with easing the pain out of their systems. Derek was aching, but he was aching for his pack, and, even if it was dysfunctional and disloyal and overall broken and distrusting in a way, he felt it was his duty, no, his _purpose_. It would be worth the effort, even if so far all his efforts had been in vain – he was clinging to his last straw of hope.

xxx

“One day we’ll return,” Peter Hale was more talking to himself, to his reflection mirrored in the black pane of the window, than to anyone present in the room.  His features were relaxed, slack, and blank of any emotion. His voice was quiet but clear as ice, laced with a tinge of regret and longing.

“You keep saying that, old man,” Jackson piped up from where he had been lazing on the motel bed. “But I’ve lost count of how many rundown fleabags we’ve passed by now.” Jackson raised his thick, carefully sculpted eyebrows. “I don’t even know where we’re going … or _why_.”

“You don’t know what you’re running from?” Peter inquired disbelievingly, raising an amused eyebrow. He stepped up to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he lifted a knee onto it.  
“My dear boy,” Peter purred, “I do believe you know better than that.”

Jackson refused to turn around to face him, just working his jaw and scoffing in reply. He shifted, readjusting the position of his legs on the bed. The sound of moving fabric filled the tense silence that dominated the room. Peter drew a line with his middle finger from Jackson’s neckline to his shoulder and down his spine. The teen’s body twitched and Jackson exhaled uncomfortably through his nose. “So let me correct that statement,” the oldest Hale continued before he leant downward to whisper into the youth’s ear, “you don’t know _who_ you’re running with.”

×××

“Whoever thought equipping my room with a twin-sized bed I’ll have word with,” Stiles complained loudly as he rubbed the back of his head, scowling up at Scott from where he was sat with his bum on the wooden floor. “Oh right, it was my dad. _Dad!_ ”

Scott just shot his friend another apologising expression. “I am sorry, Stiles. I was just – having a bad dream?” His words were honest but the uneasy feelings ruling his insides, bordering on _painful_ , were distracting him from sounding perfectly genuine.

Stiles groaned, getting back onto his feet and demonstratively rubbing his buttcheeks. Scott stared before he quickly turned over and buried himself under the blankets, suppressing his initial reply of ‘whoever told you to wear tight batman boxers a size too small _I_ ’ll have word with’.

“You certainly were fidgety, _jesus!_ Like a sleeping puppy, with their twitching paws and wagging _tails_ , and whimpering–“ Stiles stomped his foot gently, throwing a mock-tantrum. “You think I have to go get some ice?”

“For your butt?” Scott asked, aghast and wriggling his head out from under the covers to gape at him.

“No, _dummy!_ For my head! I fell on my rump but I hit my head on the nightstand!”

Scott winced and his expression turned even more sheepish. “I’m sorry, Stiles! I’ve never kicked someone out of their bed in my sleep before –“

“Certainly not me,” Stiles admitted sourly before he sighed.

“Uh, uh – I’ll get you some ice?” His werewolf-y friend offered and hurriedly untangled himself from out of their warm, cozy nest.

Stiles waved a hand dismissively but agreed with a clicking sound of his tongue. “But be quiet about it. Don’t wake my dad!”

“Stiles,” Scott reprimanded him, affronted, “ _please_.” His eyes twinkled with amusement before he snuck up onto his best friend, grabbing him around the waist and twirling him around the room with ease. Stiles just scarcely managed to half-suppress an indignant squawk. He was being whirled around! His feet didn’t touch the ground, nothing did, really. But what if Scott let go and Stiles would just be flung across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening squelch and – _no_ , Scott! _Bad idea!_ “My head!” Stiles reminded him, the aching spot pulsing in protest.

“Oh!” A second later Stiles was being placed onto the bed and its rumpled sheets with utmost care and gentleness. Stiles blinked and somehow Scott was leaning over him too close, too heavy, too _hot_ –

“Hngh, that was the,” Stiles remarked breathlessly, “most ridiculous and _embarrassing_ display of supernatural abilities I’ve ever –“

And he stopped midsentence because fingertips were ghosting down his sides and Scott was gazing at his face with a sort of wondrous astonishment. Stiles returned the staring in kind, his pulse quickening as he nervously licked his lips.

“ – seen,” he finished in a hushed voice, “we should never –“

And Scott was pressing closer, the fabric of their boxers connecting, their groins shifting against each other –

“ – _talk_.. _.!_ ” Stiles pressed out and managed to inhale a last gasp before their lips connected. His eyes fluttered shut and Scott’s remained open a moment longer, regarding the dance of Stiles’ lashes against his pale cheeks in the dim light of the bedside lamp. As if taken by some invisible force Stiles bucked up against Scott, their swelling arousals squeezing against each other in the motion. Stiles groaned against Scott’s mouth needily and suddenly warm palms wrapped around his wrists tightly, securing them on each side of Stiles’ head. Scott bore down onto Stiles with a sudden vigor, nipping and licking at his lips while panting heavily through his nose. Stiles scrambled for purchase with his legs, the soles of his feet skittering over the soft fabrics in his rush. He struggled against Scott’s hold and suddenly his wrists were released and strong arms wrapped around his middle. Suddenly he was being lifted again and with a quick turn-over roll Stiles found himself straddling Scott’s lap, his knees digging into the mattress, steadying him perfectly –

Hands were swatting at his face and pulling him down and Stiles followed eagerly. His body was electrified and the meeting of their lips was inducing the sparking of nerves that caused full-body shudders. Stiles pressed his lower body down onto Scott’s with all the desperate force he could muster, their loins sliding up against each other deliciously, pre-come staining their underwear.

“ _Stiles!_ ” Scott groaned, lost in ruthless actions. His eyes were glowing as his hands stroked their way down Stiles’ back. “ _Please_.” The sound of Scott’s voice had Stiles’ erection twitching in his underpants, a pulling sensation deep inside his lower regions stuttering the movement of his hips, “Oh fuck!”

All licking and nipping and scandalously wet kissing aside the teen finally parted his lips and Scott’s tongue plunged inside. Having another one’s tongue invading his mouth felt strange and unfamiliar but this was Scott, holy fucking shit, this was _Scott –_ his scent filled Stiles’ nose, his hands were everywhere and it was warm and it was familiar and it was s _afe_ –

And it was fucking hot as hell and apparently they were fucking horny as hell, as well. Everything else was forgotten, from the alpha pack up to their nightly accident just now, nothing mattered. The pulsing of his head had faded into the background as the pulsing in his pants grew more and more intense.

Strong fingers squeezed into the firm softness of Stile’s ass cheeks, Scott’s hands grapping and rubbing, pulling and pressing, caressing and fondling – and Stiles’ _groaned_ , seeing stars behind his eyes, incredibly turned on. “ _Oh my god, oh god_ –“

Gasping and moaning they lost themselves in a wild and unruly rutting of groin against groin. Stiles was touching Scott everywhere he could, his hands sliding and squeezing, following his collarbone and rounding his shoulders and traveling back to his neck until Stiles buried his hands in Scott’s dark mane.

Mouthing at Scott’s adorable uneven jaw, whose jawline Stiles was pretty sure he could even redraw in his dreams, he unintelligibly mumbled Scott’s name mixed in with the ‘ _Oh my god_ ’s and moans of pleasure to which Stiles’ verbal abilities had been reduced to in the last few minutes. But the little he could still utter he did with increasing intensity and Scott growled, eyes rolling back into his head as he bucked up into Stiles in one last, terribly sensual roll of his hips.

At the same time that Scott shuddered through his release, he grabbed at Stiles’ ass harshly, sharp claws pricking through the cloth, pressing him vigorously down onto his crotch, grinding in a circling motion. Stiles choked, and helplessly rubbed and wriggled against him with what little leeway he had before he too came, throbbing and aching.

He whimpered before he slumped down onto Scott’s muscled and sweaty body, their soiled boxers clinging together and their breathing loud, harsh and uneven.

Stiles pressed his face into the sheets, torn between wanting to bolt off the bed, out the house and into the woods to scream or cry, or maybe rejoicing that he’d just had one of the best orgasms of his life ~~and going for round two~~. The bend of Scott’s neck was hot against the side of his face, while Scott locked his arms around him again, pressing his nose into Stiles’ buzzcut and inhaling deeply.

They stayed liked that for a few more minutes before the sensitivity grew too unbearable and the urge to change and clean too strong. They lay next to each other, staring at the ceiling, coming down from their high.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott’s voice sounded hollow in the dark of night, “ _what have we done?_ ”

The silence in the room was deafening.

“Let’s not – _let’s not_ ,” Stiles replied eventually, halting, “let’s just … talk about It in the morning?” Something in his chest clenched painfully but Scott eased a breath out of chest and nodded in agreement. Stiles quickly flicked his gaze back onto the ceiling.

“I for my part am getting rid of these boxers, sheesh, talk about teenage boy stereotypes –“ And with that Stiles wriggled out of his boxers and cleaned himself roughly, his cheeks heating up but he ignored it with what dignity he had left. Scott didn’t say anything but a few seconds later Stiles could hear the click of the lamp being turned off and the rustling of fabric. With their boxers thrown somewhere into the approximate direction of the clothes basket, Stiles pulled a thin blanket over his naked body, his mind whirling and a sleepless night of continued awkwardness and bad feels assured. But then there was Scott’s arm wrapping around him and pulling him closer gently, Scott’s body a line of heat at his back. Stiles exhaled a shuddering breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding before he slightly relaxed, entwining his fingers with Scott’s were they rested easily over his heart. Anxious about what the morning would bring Stiles closed his eyes and sooner than later sleep took him.

×××

_A boy vulnerable and weak, wheezing, trapped under his weight, flesh soft and warm, giving way under the pressure of his jaw –_

_The transluscent lights of a video store. A chubby guy with glasses and beard on a ladder. Not for much longer._

_A busdriver screaming and begging, he’s old and wrinkled, and he stumbles backwards, falls. He crawls backwards but behind him, **the boy** – his eyes a bright, golden colour – _

_It’s dark, a jingling noise sounds from a man’s belt when he is pounced, claws rip his throat –_

_A woman pale and dead lying to his feet. Her red hair has lost all colour from the dirt smeared into it, as if her body had been dragged through the mud –_

_A hobo in the woods, stuffed headfirst into a burning bin, **alive**._

Aidan gasped, hands flying to his throat. He choked, tasting ash in his mouth. His body whirred.

“With the bite an unexperienced alpha can submit certain memories to his beta’s … let’s call it ‘wolfish subconsciousness’,” Deucalion elaborated as he withdrew his claw. “I extracted those memories. The most prominent ones, mind.”

Aidan was unable to speak as Deucalion grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, shaking him once and violently. “The decision has not been ill-founded,” his eyes were focusing hungrily at a point beneath Aidan’s nose. “So know your place, Aidan. Or I will be forced to _remind_ you.”

Aidan just bowed his head once, his heart thrumming in his chest and neck stinging mercilessly.

“We will bring justice upon the disgrace for he will be eradicated,” Deucalion declared loudly before he turned around again, “and for his breed,” his face twisted into a grim smile, “well, we’ll see.”

×××

When Stiles’ breath had evened out Scott squeezed his eyes shut in a painful grimace. He was confused, satisfied, disturbed, ridiculously happy, horrified and vaguely twitchy. The unsettling sentiences from before had apparently vanished.

“Stiles,”Scott whispered forlornly into the silence of the night which only got interrupted by the faint blaring of sirens in the distance, “what have I _done?_ "

×××

It was the middle of the night and Isaac woke with a start from his light slumber. Something, no, _someone_ had stirred, bumping his arm in the process. Erica was lying awake, her face pale and eyes wide as she studied her surroundings. “Are we …” Her voice was weak and she had to take a moment to gather herself before she continued, “Are we in a cellar?”

“Yes,” Isaac replied hesitantly, confused at her obvious discomfort but blinded by the sagging relief to see her conscious and responsive. He studied her closely and her wet eyes flicked over to meet his gaze.

“What’s that,” she mumbled, lids growing heavier with each syllable. “What’s that light?”

“ _What light?_ ” Isaac asked, panicking and worrying that she might have come to be at death’s door without them realizing. But Erica had passed out again and then finally the pungent smell hit Isaac’s nose, finally having trickled through the cracks of the thick basement door and prolate cellar room windows.

He bolted upright, disbelievingly observing the orange light flickering outside and enlightening the ceiling.

Isaac cried out.

“ _Derek!_ ”

×××

…

×××

 

Morning dawned crisp and promising though actually it was just the same as usual. Stiles woke to morning breath and being entangled with a ridiculously clingy werepuppy. Aside from the fact that they both were stark naked everything was what Stiles had come to be accustomed to in the last few weeks. _Wait._

Stiles lay paralysed and tore his eyes open. Scott was snuffling against his neck in his sleep and Stiles was all too aware of his _bare_ backside and something happily prodding up against it. He ripped his mouth open in a silent scream, beginning to have an internal freak out of nuclear dimensions. He lifted his clenched fist to bite down onto it _hard_ , muffling any audible noises of agony that threatened to spill. Stiles found himself to be in absolutely no state of mind to face this, this _situation_ , _how_ ever it happened – **_why_** ever it happened – however wonderful and scarringly hot and bothered it had been, and holy shit, could they do that again – _no_.

_Stop. Right.There. Sort your fucking priorities._

Stiles couldn’t help but snort at his own mind’s wording of ‘ _fucking_ priorities’ because truth be told –

“Stiles?” Scott’s sleepy voice rang out groggily from behind him and Stiles froze. Or would have frozen had he not already been lying still, chewing on his own fist.

While Stiles whole body seemed to flush over in embarrassment, Scott slowly detached himself from Stiles’ backside and scrubbed a hand over his face without a care in the world. “What time is it?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I just woke too, man.”

“Hmph,” Scott returned and groaned sinfully when he started stretching his limbs.

“I slept like a log!” He declared happily and suddenly there was a jaw resting on Stiles’ shoulder and Scott nudged his earlobe with his nose, “The apocalypse could have happened and I _wouldn’t have woken up._ ”

“Th–That’s great, buddy,” Stiles fumbled for words as he stared down onto his fist detachedly. Teeth nibbed at his ear.

“ _J-jesus!_ ”

Scott laughed and pressed his face into the bend of Stiles’ neck, somehow having managed again to sneak his arm around his best friend in a very _naked_ embrace.

“You smell so good.”

“I can’t take this,” Stiles groaned, now hiding his face in his hands.

“I could certainly take – “ Scott began, the smirk in his voice impossible to miss out on.

“What is _wrong with you?_ ” Stiles interrupted him, shrieking, and swatted at Scott’s arm and face and wherever he could reach. “Just last night you started _angsting_ and now you – now you…!”

Scott loosened his grip and made Stiles lay back onto his back. With curiosity he considered his tanned hand splayed across Stiles’ fair and speckled chest.

Stiles was still grumbling to himself, his brows lowered in a furious scowl as he hunched his shoulders and clenched and unclenched his fists lying at his sides. Scott was still gazing down at him, his focus shifting from Stiles’ chest to his face. He flexed his elbow on which he was supporting his upper body and leant forward. Stiles held his breath unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Scott lowering himself, illuminated by the morning light.

The chaste kiss planted playfully on the tip of his up-turned nose caught Stiles off-guard. Scott beamed down at him while Stiles gaped at his cheerful expression. He swore he saw Scott’s imaginary tail wagging.

“So, _naked_ puppy piling,” Stiles croaked, at a loss for words and confused, because he had expected more sorts of … protest and _denial_ , “does wonders to your mood, eh? It can only get worse from now on …”

“ _Or better_ ,” Scott purred and nuzzled Stiles’ nose while his fingers trailed lower, vanishing under the edge of the blanket. Stiles breath caught in his throat and he wasn’t sure what to expect any more ever again.

“What is it with you?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask hastily, before he blurted: “Is it fullmoon or something? Are you influenced by the silver rays of moonshine? Are you having moonsickness again?”

“Stiles,” A faint frown appeared on Scott’s face.

“Mood swings?”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott’s tone grew more insistent.

“Does your werepeen act up and you have to randomly jump someone, like you did with _Lydia_?”

Scott held his breath and his expression morphed into something akin to shock and hurt. Before he could answer though – or before Stiles could brabble some more moronic notions – his head snapped to the side in a sudden movement, as if he had heard something.

“Scott …” Stiles pleaded, suddenly terrified. But he was interrupted by the voice of his father.

“ _Boys!_ ” The Sheriff shouted from downstairs, pulling the key out of the front door and throwing it shut behind him. Scott was up and gone in a flurry of limbs, hurrying down the hall to seek refuge in the bathroom.

“Are you up?” The Sheriff called and Stiles nearly fell flat on his nose in his panic to get out of the bed and into some _clothes_.

“Uh, yeah! WE’RE UP!”

“About time!” The reply was and the Sheriff slipped out of his shoes and trudged into the kitchen.

 

Fifteen minutes later Scott joined the two Stilinskis at the breakfast table, Stiles inconspicuously trying to drown himself in his coffee mug.

They sat together and ate in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, while the Sheriff had his elbow crossed on the table, looking from his son to his childhood friend. Both teenagers were actively avoiding any eye contact with him or with each other.

“Uh, so … Scott?” The Sheriff cleared his throat and Scott winced. John frowned but ignored the boy’s strange behaviour. “You plan on going to work your part time job today, after school?”

“Eh,” Scott gulped down his bite of toast, “I guess?”

“Actually we both wanted to,” Stiles threw in, cheeks reddening, “w-wanted to head over to Deaton’s to … to help.”

John’s face grew more solemn. “I was called out last night.”

Only then Stiles realised that yes, his dad had been supposed to be home and asleep last night, not out for work and returning in the morning, clad in his uniform.

“We had a code 51,” the Sheriff explained and offered a comforting gaze.

Scott still looked confused, his face contorted with frustration and fear while Stiles nearly dropped his mug.

The Sheriff turned his attention to the McCall boy and reached out a hand to settle gently on Scott’s forearm.

“Someone set fire to the veterinary clinic.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this ... the writing was unexpectedly fast and pleasant. I finished it a few days ago and then Azur was able to look through it (thank youuu, babe!!!) and here it is.
> 
> I gotta update the timeline, too, but since everything has been happening in a chronological order in the last few chapters I don't think it's that pressing a matter (but I will do it ... soon, hahaha).
> 
> Also you finally got sOME _ACTION_ HOW DID YOU LIKE THAT?!


	12. It Gets Hotter

 

> “ _Derek, what are we gonna to do?_ ”
> 
> Isaac was terrified and his desperation was reflected by the panic that shook his voice.
> 
> Derek was prowling the perimeter. The stairs must have been alight with flame because the thick steel door had been too warm to the touch when Derek had checked, pressing the back of his hand up against the door and its knob. Hopefully it would still be protecting them from the devouring blaze a while longer. The windows were too narrow to edge their way through, he supposed not even Erica would have fit had she been conscious and in any state to try to.
> 
> They were trapped. There was no way out.

×××

“Stiles!” His father had jumped to his feet and hurried to his son’s side. “I want you take deep breaths and calm down! _Breathe!_ ” Stiles just shook his head, too afraid to speak, or else everything would just spill out –

Scott was as pale as death and felt so nauseous it seemed to be only a matter of moments until he’d haul the content of his stomach back onto his plate.

The Sheriff felt a bit helpless and overstrained with the boys’ strong reactions.

“You don’t have to be worried! You do know that Dr. Deaton doesn’t _live_ there! I – I don’t know about the animals though …” The Sheriff winced at his own words.

×××

 

> “They couldn’t get in, so they’re trying to lure us out!” Derek screamed in frustration and kicked against one of the metallic bureaus. He didn’t register the pain when he broke a few toes.
> 
> “They’re not luring us out,” Isaac objected, his words dripping with terror. “We _can’t_ get out! They’re gonna smoke us out, or rather _burn us alive!_ ”
> 
> “ _NO!_ ” Derek howled, and his eyes stung with the heat ejected by the fire, or the devastated tears that never spilt, or the smoke that was creeping into the room through the cracks around the door; smoke that would soon have them choking on their own breaths – he didn’t know which of them was the cause or if all three were the culprits and he didn’t _care_.
> 
> “They’re _here!_ ” Derek flung a table across the room, the silver instruments and little boxes and capsules previously set on it spilling across the floor, clattering and clinking. “They’re _fucking_ here! How did I _not_ notice?!”
> 
> In the distance, over the crackling of the flames and things burning to ashes, he believed to hear a sardonic laughter and his insides burned hotter with a fury hotter than any other flames ever did that night. And he swore to himself that he’d find the one responsible and _rip their throat out_.

×××

“Dad,” Stiles forced out of his closed up throat, “ _Dad_ , has anyone been …” _found_ , he meant to say, but went with, “hurt?” instead. He hated his brain that insisted even in moments like this to supply him to talk with caution, to attend to the irresistible urge to protect his dad, to keep him extracted from the formula of supernatural mess Beacon Hill’s had become. To keep him safe, even if they didn’t managed to save – his breathing quickened and his chest clenched and his dad started making soothing noises.

“Most of the building is intact, only the back section has been burned down. Apparently this section has been used for storage, leading into a basement,” the Sheriff smiled encouragingly, “so, actually, I don’t think any pet lives have been lost.”

×××

 

> “Maybe the firefighters … maybe they’ll come in time and … and …” Isaac’s slender frame was towering over the silhouettes of Erica and Boyd’s curled up bodies, “and find us.” Having wrapped his long arms comfortingly around himself he stared down onto the two unconscious teenagers helplessly. He’d tried calling 911 but there was no reception down here.
> 
> “Why was I born with the gift of continuously attracting _pyromaniacs?!_ ” More furniture was being kicked and shifted and thrown by one very worked up alpha werewolf.
> 
> “Derek,” Isaac whispered pleadingly, frozen with fright like a pillar of salt. More smoke was steadily filtering in and finally the young Hale snapped.
> 
>  “Isaac,” Derek shouted loudly, putting as much confidence and command into it as he could afford to. “Get the blankets!”
> 
> Derek ran over to the water basins in an instant, slipping out of his shirt and then turning on every single tap on full power. Cold, fresh water was spilling down into the sinks that Derek had plugged up after a bit of fumbling. He then ripped his shirts into shreds while Isaac hurried over with the blankets in his arms.
> 
> A short glance towards the back of the room confirmed Erica and Boyd having been propped up against the wall farthest away from the door. Derek jerked his head and Isaac dropped the blankets into the basins that were steadily being filled with more water. Derek abruptly handed Isaac three soaking wet pieces of clothing. “Cover their mouths and noses! And Isaac,” and Derek pulled him close by the scruff of his neck with a gentleness one would think him incapable of in such a life-endangering, futile situation, “only breathe through your nose, understand?” Isaac nodded wide-eyed and stumbled over to the other two. Derek pulled one of the completely soaked through sheets out of one of the sinks and dragged it over to the door, blocking the small slot at the bottom to prevent any more smoke from entering. He quickly assessed if they could open any of the windows to air the room but it was impossible to tell where the center of the fire was wreaking hell upon them and if the flames would not lick their way into the room if they risked opening. By now water was spilling over the brinks of the basins and Derek watched the water flowing down the metal and hitting the floor with a detached sort of interest. His gaze shifted to the three pups cowering in a corner of the room, dark cloths now veiling their faces. Isaac met his gaze, afraid but with a determined frown. Derek gritted his teeth. He would not allow the fire to take them. Not ever again. He wound his own piece of ripped shirt around his head.

×××

The sound of screeching car tires startled all three of them and Stiles’ dad straightened his back to throw a glance out the window, a comforting hand still resting on Stiles’ shoulder.

“No bodies have been found?” Scott inquired weakly but emphatically, his fingers digging into the flesh of Stiles’ thigh under the table, unseen.

“No carcasses as of the last state of affairs,” the Sheriff reassured, frowning slightly. The two boys exchanged glances, wary to feel relieved without certain confirmation. Stiles was itching to jump up and get his hands on his phone which was still lying upstairs, somewhere, while Scott looked just as ready to bolt – knowing him and his werewolf instincts Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if Scott jumped right through the closed window. The Sheriff was observing them suspiciously. “Boys,” he paused shortly to heave a weary sigh, “are you gonna tell me what is going on with you?”

“Dad, it’s nothing–“

“Just the shock,” Scott shook his head.

“You’d tell–“ John got interrupted by someone thrumming their fists against the door and making use of the doorbell in a manner that was not polite in the slightest of bits.

“Stiles!” Lydia’s voice carried from outside. “Scott!”

×××

 

> He thought he had to give Isaac something to do. “Isaac! Try 911 again! Hold it close to the windows if it’s not too hot! But stay down.” Isaac scrambled to his feet, ducked and pulled his phone out. Derek turned away again, trying to keep his calm and studying what little he had to work with. The ground was littered with Deaton’s – or were those Stiles’? – instruments, but Derek didn’t know what they were or how they were used, or if they even were of any use (he supposed not), and he had to get the pups out of there.
> 
> But how?

×××

> Deucalion’s face was contorted with glee and it was a sight that had Aidan’s stomach turning upside down, a sight that made him weak in the knees and feeling quite nauseous. He knew that something was wrong with this, terribly wrong. He could hear voices. _Several_ voices. The mad alpha wasn’t on his own. His pack was with him. And they were trapped.
> 
> “Trapped in a burning building,” Ethan mumbled to his right and Aidan’s head snapped to the side in time to catch his brother’s frown. Ethan was still standing with the back to the fire they were gazing upon from the treeline, across the parking lot and street.
> 
> Kali was still leaning against her tree but her face was dark and her sharp eyes were focused on their leader.
> 
> “Isn’t that,” Aidan began lowly, “isn’t that how his family was murdered?”
> 
> “Oh,” Deucalion squeaked, “It is! Indeed, it is.” He turned around again, his fangs gleaming. “What a _coincidence_.”
> 
> The twins’ gazes locked and Aidan shook his head in an almost unintentional twitch.

×××

> “I can’t get reception!” Isaac shouted, his voice muffled by the cloth covering the lower half of his face. “It’s not working!” He sounded so close to tears.
> 
> “Okay, okay – we’ll just!” Derek was ripping open drawers and cupboards, “Look for something useable!” It seemed to get hotter with each passing minute, the dim light of the fire dancing in the reflection of the metallic surfaces of the furniture. Each of their steps was accompanied by a splashing sound because the taps were still dutifully spilling water into the overflowing sinks. The floor was wet, their faces were gleaming with sweat.
> 
> “I got a fire extinguisher!” Isaac’s voice sounded hopeful, from a corner close to the door separating them from certain death. He stepped out of the shade and waved it.
> 
> “Good! That’s – that’s good!” Derek replied and rubbed his neck. He turned to speak to Isaac again but something above their heads fell down, landing on the floor with a loud crash followed by a small explosion.

×××

Scott was up and at the door faster than the Sheriff could blink and Stiles was doing the best of his human abilities to get up on his feet without tangling himself up in any table legs and rushed after his friend.

The door was being ripped open in Lydia’s face and unblinking she stepped up onto the threshold, her face a mask of fury and disappointment. She poked her well-manicured fingers in their chests simultaneously, hard. As in, it _hurt_. A lot. Stiles winced back and Scott pushed him behind, causing Stiles to stumble backwards into the small commode in the hallway. Wood and tailbone connected painfully. “Augh!”

Scott was rubbing his chest and regarded Lydia cautiously.

“Are you two serious?!” Lydia threw up her hands in frustration, her voice high and shrill. She darted forward and poked Scott again. Scott jerked away from her finger when she set in to bury her nail deep into his flesh, oblivious to what shirt fabric or skin was keeping her from her goal. Lydia looked determined and right out pissed off and Scott somehow didn’t doubt that she could use her bare nails to kill. Suddenly he understood Stiles’ admiration for a split second.

“In this fucking mess you do not take one freaking glance at your cell phones and just sleep and I don’t know – have breakfast?!” She took a deep, scandalized breath, blinking her big eyes and throwing an incredulous deathglare at the ceiling. “I can’t believe you – “

“Lydia,” Stiles’ voice was eerily quiet and she blinked again, turning to meet his gaze. Her shoulders dropped and she stepped back, though her nostrils were still flaring and her eyes were still maniacally wide.

She thinned her lush lips, her forehead creased. “I can’t believe you …”

“Please,” Stiles begged and Scott snatched his wrist to hold it firmly.

“Tell us,” the werewolf demanded with a stern voice but his eyes spoke volumes of gentleness and fear.

×××

 

> One of the long lamps’ cords had given way to the heat and now Derek was stepping around the mess of glass and bent metal. Isaac was meeting him, clawed hands gripping the extinguisher so tightly his fingertips were leaving dents.  
>  “Let’s, we’ll just –“ Derek looked back to his pups, still knocked out to the world except the occasional flutter of lashes. “Let’s bring as much as we can between us and the fire.”
> 
> “What,” Isaac scoffed, “you want us to build a cave? The fire’s everywhere! Is it not?”
> 
> Derek squared his shoulders and glowered at his beta until Isaac shrunk back, baring his neck. Then the fire extinguisher was placed neatly in Erica’s lap while the two conscious werewolves got to work.
> 
> “It’s hot!” Isaac exclaimed as he carried on of the smaller metal cupboards towards he door.
> 
> “It’ll heal!” Derek shot back and hefted up the tall shelf onto his back.

×××

> Kali spoke up, “He’s not alone.”
> 
> Deucalion shrugged his shoulders in a twitchy motion, witness to his excitement. “We’re cleansing. Fire is cleansing.”
> 
> Aidan couldn’t take it any longer and he silently rushed to his brother’s side, seeking comfort and understanding in a familiar touch and scent. Ethan met his dark gaze and together they stepped to the side, away from their pack. Deucalion let them be.
> 
> “What did you see?” Ethan asked in a whisper as they trailed along the road, hidden from view in the shadow of the trees.
> 
> “Death,” Aidan replied, and he turned to look over his shoulder to see the backsection of the veterinary clinic burn. “ _Murders_.”
> 
> “He murdered?” Ethan breathed.
> 
> “Yes,” Aidan assured him uncomfortably. He wasn’t quite sure what to think or feel about the visions, no, _memories_ that he had been shown. “He murdered humans.”
> 
> He felt his brother’s warm touch wrapping around his shoulder in the cool breeze of this summer night.
> 
> “He seemed to kill … at random …”
> 
> Ethan’s eyes were calculating and Aidan felt an unnaturally big relief and satisfaction on finally having garnered his brother’s attention back on him again, not on books, or the Alpha Pack, or Deucalion. “Were they helping him?”
> 
> “Who?” Finally Ethan was seeing him again, it seemed. Aidan wanted to keep it that way for a while longer.
> 
> “His pack!” Ethan hissed exasperated, shaking his brother gently.
> 
> “I –“ Aidan faltered and then he paused in his step and gripped the hem of his Ethan’s jacket. “I don’t know about the rest, but I saw a boy with golden eyes,” Ethan nodded in understanding, “and … of Hispanic descent?”
> 
> Ethan was hanging onto his brother’s every word, “He helped him kill?”
> 
> “I think so.”
> 
> “And so we have it,” both jerked in surprise when Deucalion’s voice broke the whispering tone of their previous conversation, “sometimes the seed turns as bad as the genitor it’s come from.”
> 
> Aidan frowned as Deucalion stalked over to them, interrupting their private moment, “You mean Hispanic?”
> 
> Ethan slapped his brother over the back of his head. “No, idiot! The _alpha_!”
> 
> “We cannot acquiesce to such low brought customs,” Deucalion declared slyly and he reached towards the two brothers with two pale hands, long slender digits wrapping around a shoulder of each, digging into their flesh, “we cannot tolerate such bestial behaviour. We must protect our descent. It is our duty to keep it _pure_.”
> 
> “Pure,” Ethan repeated thoughtfully, “with fire?”
> 
> “With fire,” Deucalion nodded. “And on a sidenote, how else would we have gotten them out of there?”
> 
> “But they’re not out,” Aidan protested.
> 
> “Oh,” Deucalion purred and bowed his head low, the tip of his nose barely grazing the shell of Aidan’s ear. “But they are.”

×××

“What is going on?” The Sheriff demanded to know when he was stepping up to the three slightly hysterical teenagers, just before Lydia could answer. He took in the scene and shook his head, exhaling heavily. He didn’t know what to do any more, with his son, his son’s friends – _his city_.

Lydia blinked up at the Sheriff for a few seconds, her lips frowning in an almost pouting manner. “What is going on?” She repeated sweetly, hands on her hips, “Mister Stilinski?”

“That’s what I asked you, Miss Martin,” the Sheriff returned, unimpressed, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” the redhead lilted, “it’s just that Scott and Stiles were supposed to _actively_ participate in our _group project_ but they neglected their duties.”

The Sheriff raised his eyebrows. So did Lydia in turn.

“I am very cross with them,” she declared, shrugging a shoulder.

“Sounds like a very important … project,” the Sheriff assessed carefully.

“Oh, it is,” Lydia confirmed, twirling the keys of her car around her finger, “it is a matter of _life and death_.”

While the Sheriff just shrugged his shoulders and turned to head upstairs with a well-meant, “go easy on them, they’re still a little … you know”, Stiles had been short of jumping Lydia to somehow get the information she so obviously had out of her. The Sheriff had reached the stairs and was ascending them sluggishly. He shook a hand next to his temple, “A little … in shock. Good morning.”

“Good morning!” Lydia called back in her saccharine voice before she tutted at the ashen colour of Scott and Stiles’ faces. “No good mornings for you,” she declared easily before she turned on her heels. Without being told to Stiles and Scott dashed after her.

×××

 

> There had been a door, a second door in a room that had previously only held one exit. It was white and blessedly cool to the touch, less tall and imposing as the other one, more narrow and with no door knob at all. It had been hidden behind the shelf.
> 
> “It’s gotta lead somewhere, right?” Isaac cried in relief, his hands grabbing and patting at Derek’s shoulder.
> 
> “I suppose.”
> 
> All around them it was hot and there were cracking sounds from the flames eating and nagging at the structure of the building. For some reason the fire still hadn’t reached inside their hide-out although by now more smoke had collected, hanging like fog above the surface of the inches-deep water covering the floor.
> 
> “How are we gonna open it?”
> 
> Derek stared at the door, his jaw working, “I don’t know.”
> 
> They exchanged a glance before both shot forward at once, hands and claws fingering along the cracks of the door, pulling, scratching, pressing. Nothing happened. The door was as still and unmovable as before. “Is this some kind of fucking secret passage door?” Derek huffed in frustration. He felt an urge to hit something. Preferably the door.
> 
> “What’s that?” Isaac piped up, ignoring Derek. There was something round sunk-in towards the bottom of the door. “Eh? It looks like …” And with that the beta shot up and stalked towards the sinks. A second later he was back at Derek’s side, holding one of the plugs. He pressed it against the indentation and suddenly it made a sucking sound and the plug was drawn in. When Isaac tried pulling it back out the door swung open smoothly.
> 
> The alpha and his beta stared with alike expressions of wonder and disbelief at the opening. Isaac felt a palm settling on his shoulder, squeezing with relieved force before Derek steered him towards their packmates. “Hurry! Let’s get out of here!”
> 
> Isaac gladly hoisted Erica into his arms. They’d make it. They’d make it out. They’d _live_.
> 
> It was a tight squeeze with their tall and broad bodies laden with another limp body but time was running out. Somehow they made it into the narrow passage even if Isaac expected the fire to blow its way into the basement room with an all-consuming explosion any second. But they made it out of the room, all four of them, and Derek threw the door shut. It was dark, cramped and slightly moist; and the farther they hauled themselves along the path the cooler it got. Isaac was too relieved to have escaped that fiery hell for now to feel the uneasiness and nausea creep into his very being.

×××

“Your phones!” Lydia reminded them harshly before they could take any step closer to her car. “Get your stuff, and I mean, the _important_ stuff – and hurry up!” She tapped her foot impatiently and the two oblivious airheads crashed back through the front door and up the stairs.

Back in Stiles room they quickly packed their school bags, emptying them of their contents and kicking the books and folders quickly under Stiles’ bed. Then they stuffed the bags with little pouches packed with supplies which they had stashed everywhere in Stiles’ room. Shortly before they ran back out again Stiles spotted one of their smaller molotov editions standing at the edge of his desk and he shrugged, grabbing it before heading out.

×××

 

>  “How are we gonna get out?” Isaac asked in the damp silence of the passage. “I don’t like it here …” Derek noted how thin his voice sounded and how he was shuddering while his heart rate quickened. “Isaac,” he intoned gently, “I need you to stay calm. We’re out of this soon, I promise.”
> 
> Isaac swallowed and pressed Erica closer to his chest. He nodded once, jerkily, “yes.”
> 
> They’d made it to the end.
> 
> Derek turned to the side and stepped onto something. It sounded like metal. He felt around with his foot and soon he was standing on a small staircase whose first step was buried in the earthy ground.  He snuffled, righting the position of Boyd’s body slung over his shoulder. “This gotta lead somewhere.”
> 
> “Up! It has to lead up!” Isaac sounded excited at the prospect of finally breathing some fresh air again. Also he began to feel more and more claustrophobic with each passing moment so the sooner they got out the better.
> 
> “Yes … up,” Derek repeated, ascending the stairs, “up and _out._ ”

×××

They were sat in Lydia’s car and Stiles was just closing the door behind him when the redheaded girl already drove on.

“Woah, there!” Stiles squeaked surprised, holding onto the dashboard before quickly fumbling for the seatbelt.

“You should be glad that we still need you or I’d bring my cross feelings to a close.”

“Lydia,” Stiles tried again, “Lyds, please, don’t tantalize us like that. What happened to Derek and the others?”

Lydia was chewing on her lower lips, her eyes glued to the road as she drove just a tad bit over the speed limit. She refused to answer.

“Lydia,” Scott tried his luck now, his voice reaching them faintly from the back, “where are we going?”

“Deaton’s,” she bit out before she whirled the steering wheel around to take the next corner at a breakneck speed.

×××

 

> The young Hale had reached the top of the stairs and yes, there was a trap door. Derek was stroking the fingertips of his free hand along the cracks outlining the door. He swore he could feel air grazing his skin but … no handle. Again. _Fuck this._ “Isaac,” he called. “C’mon we’re prying this open.”
> 
> Boyd was resting heavily on his right shoulder and he lowered him with care onto the stairs, wrapping his arms around Boyd’s torso – since he was reluctant to let go of him – and felt as Isaac made his way up, squeezing himself beside his alpha.
> 
> “Put your back into it,” Derek advised and so they did.

×××

“Deaton’s? We’re driving to the …” Stiles gulped, “… the crime scene?”

Lydia threw him an exasperated look. “No, we’re driving to where he _lives_ not works.”

“Oh … _oh?_ ”

×××

 

> Groaning in exertion Derek and Isaac were putting their all in moving the trapdoor until it finally gave way under their combined efforts. Soundlessly the material they had been pressing up against – muddy metal, with a hint of concrete? – swung skywards.
> 
> Without thinking Isaac hauled Erica, whom he’d been continuously carrying in his arms, over the edge of the opening before quickly climbing his way out into the freedom of the night. A night that was more than just a few nuances brighter than the pitch black darkness they had been wandering through. Blinking Isaac tried to orientate himself before he blindly reached downwards to help Derek heave Boyd’s lifeless body out of the passage and onto the damp ground.
> 
> It seemed that their escape route had let them to a small group of bushes at the edge of the parking lot. Inhaling deep gushes of fresh, cool air – with the sharp undercurrent of something _burning_ – Isaac held out his hand to Derek. The elder looked up to him, is eyes alight with hope and gratitude, and grabbed the offered help.
> 
> “We’re out,” Isaac whispered, relieved, and wiped his sweaty palms on the bottom part of his shirt.
> 
> “Quite,” an unfamiliar voice sounded and both werewolves whirled around to face the aggressor, “ _out_ of the frying pan and into the fire.”
> 
> On the parking lot, in front of the bushes of whose ground the Hale pack just had emerged from, Deucalion stood with his back to the burning building, arms spread in greeting. His features were shrouded by the bright backlight but soon Derek was distracted from trying to recognize a face when the stranger was flanked by others.
> 
> “Derek Hale, we’re here to call you over the coals.”
> 
> Isaac threw a quick glance at his alpha but Derek’s stare was fixed on the man in the center of the group facing them. Derek had been quiet after Deucalion’s declaration, his mind and jaw working as he tried to figure out what to do or what to _say_. Isaac was studying the Alpha Pack whose entrance had been a little more than gut-wrenching. The sight of their silhouettes against the fire with just their red eyes gleaming in the dark had Isaac suppressing a shudder.
> 
> “It seems to me you’ve taken it quite literally, what with the coals,” Derek spoke up, waving his hand in the direction of the clinic alight with flames, his voice low and steady.
> 
> Deucalion had the audacity to chuckle, “Oh, do not take it personally, Hale. I just do not like to be made wait.”
> 
> Derek didn’t deem this retort worthy of an answer. But when the silent minutes dragged on, with him and his betas being threatened by the presence of those hostile strangers, he flexed his fingers and asked: “What do you want?”
> 
> The apparent leader of the group stepped forward and Derek saw his fangs flashing when he grinned.
> 
>  “Justice.”
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to fly away to another country tomorrow to live there as an Au Pair ... but I was/am procrastinating so I got this chapter finished early and Azur got around to beta it today so here we go!
> 
> I already have a head start on chapter 13, too ... we'll see how quickly I settle and when I'll be able to write and all that. I am actually dying out of nervosity and yeah ... for now I gotta finish packing first. *screams and runs into a sun idek* ~~I CAN'T~~
> 
> Thank you for the kind comments I was so touched! They really boost my writing motiviation! I'll answer all of them as soon as I can!!!!


	13. Lydia Is Driving

> “ _Justice?”_ Derek called out furiously. “You call this justice?”
> 
> Deucalion didn’t answer nor did any other alpha of the Alpha Pack react to Derek’s words. No one seemed inclined to elaborate their thoughts.
> 
> “You kidnap two innocent teenagers and hold them hostage for _weeks_ and then you come here and _set fire_ to their shelter!” Derek’s chest felt like his rage would materialize any second clawing its way out of his ribcage to lunge at the merciless man in front of him. “Where is the _justice_ in that? You’ve come for me, have you not? So why – _why haven’t you come for me?_ ”
> 
> “Oh, but we’re here, are we not?” Deucalion let out a shallow laugh. “So _sorry_ to have kept you waiting.”
> 
> Isaac, amazed that they were still up on their feet and not down on the ground being mauled to death, straightened his hunched posture and lifted his chin, one corner of his lips twitching. “If you talk about justice … what about his trial?”
> 
> “He’s been tried,” Deucalion replied calmly, shrugging his shoulders non-chalantly, “and found guilty.”
> 
> “Of what?” Derek barked, desperate. The tension in the air was rising exponentially. With terror wrenching his gut he observed the alphas flexing their claws and, when before they’d stood tall, stoic and proud, they now were aligning their stances into something more akin to readying for attack.
> 
> “ _Murder_ ,” growled a smaller alpha standing a few paces behind his leader.
> 
> Derek stumbled back like he had been hit in the chest. “No!” He mumbled quickly, eyes wide. “No, you don’t understand–“
> 
> “We understand perfectly well,” the tall figure in the middle proceeded to interrupt Derek with a swiping gesture of his hand, “we understand that you’re a rotten disgrace and you need not be left to your own devices no more.” He crossed his arms behind his back, “But to ours.” He rolled his head, neck cracking, “Preferably … _dead._ ”

×××

“You know where he lives?” Stiles exclaimed while Scott shifted in the backseat.

“Duh, of course I do,” Lydia replied, bored and cleary annoyed by this whole conversation, “because I have a phone.”

“I have a phone as well!” Scott contradicted her from behind and Stiles just sighed. Lydia shook her shoulders as if to calm herself down, extracting her excessive energy (aka rage) into physical exercise rather than kicking Scott’s (and Stiles’) ass(es) verbally.

“Well, you do have phones but at least I was contactable,” she finally groaned, “thus I am in the know, I have the address, I have the number –“

“You have Deaton’s phone number? His _private_ number?”

Lydia threw Stiles an unbelieving glare, “His cellphone number, yes.”

Stiles swatted a hand onto his thigh in amazement and Scott shuffled in the backroom of the car, completely scandalized.

“I didn’t even know he had a cell phone?” Scott complained and Stiles was about to voice his own thoughts and theories about that when Lydia interrupted them both with a hissing sound.

“ _Again_. Are you serious?” She shrieked incredulously. “Are you actually _serious_? You’re bantering about a doc vet’s cell phone acting as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world!”

After that it was quiet and Lydia turned in on a peaceful, well-cared for street with a few one-family houses with very green gardens and adorable little walls fencing the properties.

“Sorry,” Stiles said at last. “We’re just … we’re just …”

“Worried,” Scott finished for his friend, gripping the headrest of Stiles’ seat tightly, “and we feel bad about …”

“About our phones,” Stiles continued.

“And last night,” Scott added. Stiles shrugged his shoulders up defensively while Scott tensed and looked out the window.

“Man,” Stiles exclaimed finally, “I feel so bad I just wanna jump right out of the driving car and drown myself in that sappy little garden pond over there.” Stiles turned around, squishing his face against the glass of the car window, pointing. “Scott could maybe bash his own head in with this lawn gnome over there –“

“Stop being ridiculous,” Lydia groaned exasperatedly, “we’re nearly there.”

“You haven’t even told us anything, how can we not –“

“Oh, but I did?”

“When?”

“When I answered your dad’s question?” Lydia stated the obvious, rolling her eyes simultaneously with a complete and very graceful head roll on top, to underline how utterly annoyed she was.

“But –“

“Whatever, Stiles,” Lydia steered the car onto a drive-way of one of the houses farther down the street, white gravel crunching under the wheels. “We’re here.”

The two boys were faster out of the car than you could say ‘Aconite poisoning’. While Lydia opened the driver’s door calmly Stiles turned around to call to her, “But you gotta give me his number, later on!” Lydia just waved him off and shut the door with a tad too much force and went to lock up. Stiles turned back around and saw Scott at the porch with a most peculiar sight standing in the doorway to greet them.

×××

> There were two against four or rather, one and half against four alphas. Icecold dread was turning Derek’s stomach and he knew they had not much of a chance.
> 
> Deucalion was ripping his mouth open, elongated fangs growing longer while he let out an echoing roar. As if on cue a car shot out of the smoky dark of the night, countless bright flood lights illuminating the scene at once; tires screeched and, caught by surprise, Deucalion and one other alpha got hit and flung across the parking lot by the broadside of the giant jeep that had come to the Hale pack’s rescue. The back of the silver vessel was now facing them and as if by an invisible hand the rear trunk sprang open. Derek didn’t think twice, cradling Boyd back into his arms and struggling to get as fast to the unexpected getaway car as he could. Beside him Isaac seemed to have had the same idea because Erica was up in his embrace again and together they broke through waist-high bushes separating them from the parking-lot. The opening of the trunk wasn’t that far but still the driver went into reverse to meet them, thus, when both jumped up and into the trunk, half-throwing their injured packmates in before them, it happened with such momentum that they crashed against the seats in the front.
> 
> “Oh, careful,” a warm, familiar voice sounded. Snarling could be heard and Derek looked up to see Ms Morris in the passenger seat, an automatic crossbow to her chest and aiming at the riled up alphas outside. One had already jumped onto the jeep’s hood and was clawing at the windshield. Isaac was cowering in the corner behind the driver’s seat, arms wrapped tightly around his blonde wolf-sibling. Derek was panting but he reflexively jumped on his feet turning toward’s the rear, were a young wolfed-out alpha was forcing his torso between the bottom of the car and the trunk door that had been in the process of closing itself. Derek lashed out and kicked the opponent in the face, the sickening sound of bones breaking and flesh gnashing had the alpha howling in pain. Derek kicked again, against his shoulder. He kicked with a sudden surge of power and efficiency that it cracked Ethan’s collarbone, he kicked until the space was free for him to pull the door shut – not wanting to risk waiting for the automatic to do it and offering the alphas an open slot to sneak in. His muscles bulked as he groaned in exertion.
> 
> "I hope you didn't break the mechanism," Deaton commented mildly, his gentle voice a stark contrast to his whirling hands that were surely leading them off the parking lot and speeding onto the street. Everyone and everything bounced when the car ran over the curb.  
>  "I'd think you have bigger worries on hand than that," Derek replied shakily, eyeing out the dark windows with suspicion.  
>  "That I do," the vet admitted easily, though his forehead was seen creasing with worry lines in the back view mirror. "But I like this car nonetheless. Not to mention I certainly do have bigger reparations to worry about, it seems."  
>  Derek had sunk to the floor by now, keeping a tight grip on Boyd for lack of any securing seatbelts being present. He chose not to answer but lean back against the rest of the passenger seat.  
>  "You have no backseats," Derek commented, leaning over to Isaac and stroking a dirty hand through his curls.
> 
> Deaton hummed, "Rather spacious this way, is it not?"  
>  "Men and their cars," Miss Morris announced mock-weary and shook her long, straight as a stick hair.  
>  "We all have our vices," Deaton retorted drily and Derek just snorted, shaking his head.

×××

Stiles raised his brows in greeting.

“Well,” Deaton stated calmly, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Clad in leather he was a totally new sight, still imposing but in another way. Stiles decided he liked his usual vet coat better. It looked more friendly and less menacing. And what was it with all werewolves-related people wearing leather all the time? Was it like, their uniform? Stiles hoped that Scott wouldn’t take to wearing leather all the time … because seriously? Stiles would be reminded of Grease or The Outsiders and the like every time he’d see him. And it wouldn’t be nice to always laugh in his face. On the other hand … leather jackets were sexy.

Deaton tilted his head to the side, “Come on in.”

 

They’d progressed from getting into Deaton’s clinic into his private house quite quickly. Well, taking into account how long they’d already known him … or he them, it maybe wasn’t that quick after all. His house was surprisingly neat and tidy – although the neat and tidy wasn’t the surprising notion but rather the comfortable, cozy feeling his housing emitted. It looked like some kind of content, super up-to-date grandpa was living in it … A middle-aged leather-wearing grandpa …

Stiles’ thought processes got interrupted by the sight of Derek glooming in the half-dark hallway of Deaton’s entryway.

“You!” Stiles exclaimed, relieved and storming forward, Scott close to his heels. Shortly before giving Derek one Stilinski-approved-I-am-so-glad-your-sorry-ass-is-alive-and-well hug Stiles faltered which resulted in their chest awkwardly colliding and rubbing up against each other before Stiles stepped back, patting a broad shoulder, “Uh, nice to see you!” Derek just raised an eyebrow but inside he was laughing at Stiles, the buzzhead swore he could see it in the alpha’s eyes. Scott had passed them by and hurried into the second room to the left down the hall. As Stiles and Derek followed the shuffling and rustling of clothes could be heard and when they entered they found Scott on top of the sleeping, tangled up betas covering the whole of a wide, long bedsofa.

“I feel so much better,” Stiles declared, a weight lifted off his chest. Damn that hotblooded redhead! She could’ve just said that they’d made it away unharmed. Because …

“You _are_ … unharmed, are you not?” Stiles blinked at the occupants’ of the room.

“More or less,” Derek grumbled behind his back. “Physically we are well but I think it’s safe to say that we’ve been psychologically scarred by the psychotic murder machines that seem to be the Alpha Pack.”

Stiles’ heart dropped into his boots. Suddenly his mouth was too dry and he rolled his tongue around in his mouth cavity uncomfortably. At once Scott was at his side, eyes intent on the motion of Stiles’ lips and cheeks and in reflex Stiles shrugged away from his friend’s unusual scrutiny.

“What do you mean?” Scott turned to engage into serious conversation with Derek while Stiles inconspicuously stole himself farther away from the pair to seat his behind on the edge of the sofa. Erica and Boyd were still way too pale and sick looking for Stiles’ taste but at least they looked a little bit better than the first glimpse he’d caught of them the evening before.

“What happened?” Stiles asked, his voice dark as he wiped a curl out of Erica’s face, “they just set fire to the clinic?”

“Set fire to the section of the building where they _knew_ we stayed in particular.”

“We thought we were done for,” Isaac’s tired voice came out from somewhere out of the puppy-pile.

“But we got out,” Derek bit out, chest rising in a deep breath as if to calm himself.

“We had some dramatic verbal exchanges –“ Isaac continued.

“In short,” Derek interrupted his babbling beta, “they want me dead.”

“They’re charging him with murder,” Isaac was lifting his curly head from the mattress.

“Murder? What Murder?” Stiles inquired.

“Peter’s murder?” Scott piped up, face scrunched up in disdain. “But that was unavoidable!”

“Laura’s murder, maybe?” Stiles thought out loud.

“But that was Peter’s doing!” Scott argued, his shoulders rising as was his temper.

“Murder,” Derek’s voice ended the discussion. “Just _murder_. Who knows who I killed and what for –“

“ _Supposedly_ killed!” His curlyheaded beta threw in.

“I don’t even get what the Alpha Pack’s really there for and how it works,” Stiles stated, his face a stern mask of discontent. “But on what do they base their … accusations on? How do they justify them?”

“We don’t know,” Derek replied matter-of-factly.

“So what do we know?”

“We know they’re here to ‘seek justice’ no matter the price.”

 “Which translates into you being killed?” Stiles hated how this conversation was normal for them, how they had to talk about stuff like this like it was normal. But it was. It was their reality and an inevitable one at that.

Derek didn’t answer, just set his jaw in a terse nod.

“How did you get away?” Scott got back to the initial topic starter. “How did you get out of there in the first place?”

“There was a secret passage!” Isaac helpfully explained and Derek just looked out of the window which was facing the back garden. “And when they were about to rip us to pieces Deaton came and got us out!”

“Deaton?” Stiles and Scott asked in unison, exchanging glances.

Stiles had gotten up on his feet in surprise, “He _actively_ participated in this?”

Deaton startled them all by clearing his throat and speaking, having suddenly appeared in the doorway, Lydia at his back: “I don’t take lightly to someone setting fire to my … clinic,” he turned his head to look at each and every single face gathered in the room. “Nor do I take lightly to my wards being trapped in said building.” His expression turned dark and his mouth was set in a stern line. “This is not how an Alpha Pack is supposed to operate.”

“We expected the worst,” Lydia lifted her chin, disappointment flashing over her features, “but it wasn’t enough.”

“We prepared,” Stiles added getting up and stepping towards the group, “but they still hit us unprepared.”

Deaton was quiet for a bit, observing the two spokes-persons. He sighed. “It seems to me, that you now know to expect worse than the worst and to prepare for worse than the worst.”

“But–“

“And that there is not much to expect where you can be sure that it’ll actually occur. They’re out to hunt, and it’s not a civilized hunt,” Deaton continued, “They don’t care for collateral damage, as we’ve witnessed. What counts are not expectations but reactions.”

Stiles was biting the skin of his thumb, his gaze flying across the room. His head snapped up.

“It’s not just Derek,” he breathlessly realised, “they’re out to get all of us, or at least as many as they can. Am I right?”

“But why?” Scott demanded to know because he just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“We might never know,” the vet casually stated, “but that is not of concern right now. You have to concentrate on staying alive. Staying sober.”

“We’re not _drinking_?!” Isaac protested, pouting slightly. And what did drinking have to do with anything? Not to mention the werewolves couldn’t even get drunk anymore!

“That’s not what he meant,” Boyd’s deep baritone had them all turning their heads in shared surprise. The young beta was awake and in the process of sitting up. He winced and instantly Derek was by his side, putting a steadying hand onto his back.

A small smile played on Deaton’s lips as he nodded in Boyd’s direction. “You might have to consider possibilities you wouldn’t have thought possible before. You have to retaliate each of their strikes with one of equal measure.”

“ _Fight fire with fire_ ,” Lydia tilted her head, eyes glazed over in understanding.

“Guys,” Scott said hurriedly, “I do hope we’re not going to torch up all of Beacon Hills?”

“It’s metaphorical, idiot,” Lydia replied, an eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

“Not entirely,” Stiles reminded her, one hand at his back pocket clasping the profile of the mini molotov stashed there. By now he was standing towards one of the walls of the room and Scott was next to him and Stiles felt a warm hand covering his own, fingertips pressing into the firm flesh of his –

“Oh right, the molotovs,” Scott said sheepishly, “forgot about that.”

“I wished there was another way to fight alphas other than to set them aflame,” Stiles complained truthfully.

“There is,” Deaton replied, “there are several ways, but you won’t like any of them.”

“What a surprise.”

×××

They gathered around the sofa, instilling some water into Boyd and then Deaton vanished towards the kitchen, Stiles in tow.

“We gotta lure them away from the people,” Derek announced darkly, the set of his shoulders drooping with the weight of their involuntary mission.           

“Yes,” Scott agreed instantly.

Lydia shrugged her shoulders in a jerky motion, chewing on her lower lip.

“How are we gonna do this?” Isaac spoke up, lifting his head up from his hunched position where he leant against the wall.

“We move,” Derek elaborated.

“You are not going to just run out and present yourself to them, are you?” Lydia asked drily, twirling the tip of a lock around her fingers.

“No,” the alpha replied curtly, mildly offended.

“I was just making sure,” Lydia retorted with big, innocent eyes. “Have you ever even taken a look at our plans?”

Derek rolled his eyes at her remark, “Yes, I did. I’d say we move on out to that old abandoned factory compound. We might have a shot at dividing them there, with the advantage of knowing the environment,” looking at the stony faces surrounding him Derek’s mouth tightened, “well, at least a bit.”

“ _Plan of ours_ ,” Lydia purred under her breath while she nodded in agreement, she continued in a normal voice, “The thing is, we still don’t know about the range of the alpha kick connection.”

Derek’s expression closed up instantly. He looked to the side, “Apparently its perimeter isn’t as small as we would’ve liked. I don’t think we’ll be able to rid them of their advantage on this part.”

“That,” Lydia stated, looking nowhere in particular while trying to keep her calm, “is unfortunate.”

Scott exchanged glances with Isaac.

“We have to divide _and_ eliminate them.” Derek’s word stung and now that they were out in the open it was as if all air had been sucked from the room. No one spoke; no one moved or even breathed. Derek slowly raised his gaze to lock eyes with Scott whose body’s tensed posture spoke volumes of its own. Scott clenched his teeth and lowered his head.

“We’ll do anything necessary so that no more harm will come to anyone,” he stated quietly.

“Except the Alpha Pack,” Lydia cut snidely in.

“ _Anything_ necessary,” Scott repeated and his hands, hanging loosely to his side, clenched into fists.

Derek nodded once, his face pale but expression determined, “Good.”

Boyd shuffled from he were sprawled across the couch. “So,” his croaky voice sounded again, “what do you plan?”

Lydia startled slightly while the others turned to look at the beta. Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulders and stepped forward. She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not participating,” her voice rang loud and clear.

“ _What?_ ” Boyd grumbled in response.

“You’d be more of a hindrance than a help,” Lydia elaborated, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her lips contorted in a downward smile.

“That’s not for you to decide,” the recently awoken teen retorted, his jaw working. “What are _you_ doing here anyway?”

Lydia huffed in an offended breath.

“You can barely even get up,” Scott jumped in helpfully and Boyd turned to direct his calm glare at him.

“She’s right, Boyd,” Derek admitted quietly but with finality. “You know you’re in no condition to … to do anything but _rest_.”

Boyd and Derek held a short staring contest until his beta sacked back against the cushions and Scott thought he might have seen something akin to relief flash over Boyd’s usually very unexpressive features.

Derek leant down and reached over Boyd to check on Erica. She was still asleep but with a healthy rosey hue to her cheeks that had the alpha stroking caring fingertips over her cheekbone before he could stop himself. He blinked before he quickly squeezed Boyd’s bicep in a gesture of comfort and stepped back, “We gotta get going.” Not knowing what else to say he ducked his head and stormed out the room.

×××

Derek stepped into the kitchen, his steps almost silent on the little checked black and white kitchen tiles. Completely ignoring Stiles’ presence he cleared his throat before straightening his posture.

“Will you take care of them?”

“Yes,” Deaton replied without turning, busy with whatever he was preparing on his stove.

“Will they be safe?”

And at that Deaton did turn around, carefully searching Derek’s gaze. “As safe as they can be,” he answered finally and Derek jerked his head in understanding.

He opened his mouth to speak but no tone came out, his eyes fixed on some spot of the wall. “I …” He breathed heavily through his nose before rising to his full height, then crumbling into a hunched posture again. “Thank you.”

Deaton just smiled softly and inclined his head before nodding it into the direction of the door. “Don’t lose any more time,” he reprimanded them, “but don’t lose caution either.”

“We won’t!” Stiles promised and rushed out the door. Derek frowned and then he rolled his eyes, following the buzzheaded teen.

On the porch Scott stepped up to Derek who felt a hesitant pat on the blade of his right shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Scott spoke quietly, “Lydia said you must’ve been acclimated to the alpha-kick – and you also had your hands full with taking care of Boyd and Erica!”

“I should’ve noticed,” Derek insisted between clenched teeth.

“You can’t do all of the things, y’know,” Stiles’ voice piped up in front of them, “save your grumpy for those who deserve it.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Scott murmured before he turned to jog up to Lydia’s car, “move on.” It was barely a whisper but thanks to Derek’s supernatural senses he heard it as if Scott had been standing right next to him.

And in a way, he was. No matter how much he had bristled at the beginning, here Scott _was_ , on Derek’s side.

Derek’s stomach felt like it was filled with lead, every limb numb with the agonizing tension of anticipation. He turned his head to watch Scott approaching the car while Stiles was now hurrying after him, long-limbed and kind of awkward. Derek felt like Scott’s words had held more meaning to them than just the fire incident of the previous night but as he breathed out a nasal sigh he fought to not shake his head in defeat. He knew he wouldn’t be able to let go of that lead that weighed and wore him down with every step he took, had been doing so every single day for the past few years.

 His family was dead and for some reason he still clung to life like it was dear to him. For some reason he had turned several teenagers to ensure their – no, _his_ survival and the continued existence of the Hale pack. For some reason he felt a little droplet of hope falling onto the bundle of lead as he watched Scott’s retreating back, and it sizzled like a flame.

Suddenly something orange flashed in the corner of his eyes and he looked up to see Lydia pausing her stride next to him. “We’ll meet at school in fifteen.” With that she waved him off and hurried towards her car, a peeping sound filling the chilly morning air.

“School?” Derek asked the empty porch and frowned again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am sorry about the long delay but moving to another country, even temporary as it is (although right now I feel like 6 months are gonna be an _eternity_ ), is a big change and distracting ... also it's hard to find time or energy to write~ but I've adjusted and got back into writing! 
> 
> On a sidenote, the new season started and I am so freaking excited! Especially the latest episode had me flipping! 
> 
> I hope you're all well and thank you for your comments, they mean a lot and are so, _so_ appreciated!
> 
> Unbetaed.


	14. School At Day

“Do you even have anything school supply-ish with you?” Scott moaned in slight frustration and glanced up to the maindoors of their school.

“I might have a little notepad somewhere … and if we’re lucky one of us has stuffed a pen somewhere,” Stiles replied, shrugging a shoulder up.

“I feel so unprepared,” Scott continued to complain, “also all my homework is at home.”

“You mean under my bed,” Stiles added and one corner of his mouth twitched in a half-grin.

“I didn’t think we’d go to school?” Scott turned to Lydia who’d tuned those two idiots’ bickering out a while ago.

“It’s our safest option,” she replied snappishly, “if we haven’t already led them to our homes at least we didn’t do it just now.”

“Now they know where our school is!” Stiles exclaimed worriedly.

“It’s no big deal, it’s actually the only high school around here,” Scott reprimanded him.

“You think they’re here right now? Ugh,” Stiles scratched at the back of his neck, “I feel those eyes boring into my back, I swear.”

Scott snapped his head around and eyed the location, sniffing the air with suspicion.

“Stupid red alpha eyes, glowing in the dark!” Stiles continued his brabbling while Scott went full out on protective puppy.

Lydia observed them both with a frozen expression, an unpleasant tilt to her mouth. “You know what,” she finally huffed out, “how about you two go inside and I’ll wait for Derek and Isaac on my own?”

“But Lydia–“

“I’ll be fine!” She interrupted, “the parking lot is full of people. Relax.”

In the end Stiles patted Scott’s shoulder before pulling him towards the entrance, he nodded to Lydia, “See you in a bit.”

She waved them off and suppressed a groan when she heard Scott asking Stiles for a paper and maybe a pen.

“Seriously?” She grated before kicking a pebble with the tip of her shoe.

×××

 “What are we doing here?”

Lydia mustered Derek, pursing her lips while her gaze travelled up and down his body. “Well, we can’t quite obviously start the fight right now. It’s daylight.”

“I don’t think that hinders them from attacking,” Derek growled lowly and leant against the side of his car with a thud.

“Yeah, but, whatever,” Lydia swiped a lock out of her face, “we’re going to school, we’re together and should be relatively safe in there, protection of the masses. I do believe they have enough brain activity left that has not been taken over by primal killing instincts to know that storming a highschool during a weekday – during _daylight –_ is not a very bright idea.”

Derek just glared at Lydia while Isaac shifted uncomfortably beside them.

“You need to sleep, Derek,” Lydia offered him, voice serious and face stern. “You’ve been up all night.”

The alpha just blinked at her in confusion, eyes wide. Derek let out a hard, choked chuckle.

“And where, when, and _how_ , do you suggest, should I sleep?” He shot out those words incredibly fast.

“There’s this closet for PE equipments whose door is so jammed that no one bothers using it anymore. I am pretty sure with a pinky of werewolf power you’ll be able to open it … and if you’re lucky you’ll even find some old gym mattresses to rest on.” Lydia gave a wave with her own pinky before she turned on her heels and stalked towards the school’s entrance. “I’ll text you!” She called before she was out of humanly earshot.

Derek just stared at her retreating back flabbergasted. Isaac cleared his throat. “I know where that room is.”

Derek didn’t react for a few seconds before he turned his head in a dramatically slow gesture and simply stared at his beta.

×××

 “This might be a bad time,” Scott started as they walked down the corridor to their first class, “but … about last night.”

Within seconds Stiles felt his whole face flush red, heat radiating down his neck. Wow, that was quick.

“Yeah?” Stiles replied, his voice cracking the tiniest bit. “What about it?” Not meeting Scott’s eyes Stiles frantically looked around the hallway, his gaze zeroing in on lockers, trash on the ground or posters plastered to the walls.

Scott slowed his steps down and quickly checked if anyone was listening in on them. He then continued in a quieter voice: “Should we – you know, _talk?_ ”

Their conversation was halted for a few moments as Stiles fought to not replay certain scenes from the previous night. “I- I guess, we should.”

“Well,” Scott sighed but it was a ridiculously adorable and happy sound – Stiles suspected it had sounded happy because there had a tiny chuckle been hidden in it –, “I don’t know where to start.”

“Maybe you could start with taking your seats and taking out your materials,” is how the two of them got interrupted by a harsh voice which turned out to be their teacher’s. Without noticing they’d reached the classroom and entered. As if on cue the bell rang and they hurried to sit down.

×××

They managed to sneak into the school unseen after the first period had started. A little while later Derek found himself falling into the little closet – the door had been ridiculously easy to open, although he’d only used his little finger to push (a fact at which Isaac’s shoulders had started to shake in silent laughter). For a closet the room was rather big, with its own little dirty window, throwing white light onto the dusty shelves.

“Mattresses!” Isaac rejoiced behind him and Derek shook his head. They tried to position the mattresses atop of each other but since they were too broad for the small footspace in the room, the corners and sides of the mattresses were folded up against either wall or shelves which gave them a strangely comforting form reminiscent of a dog basket.  Derek raised two unimpressed eyebrows before lowering his body onto their makeshift bed, Isaac joining him instantly, snuggling against his broad back. Derek’s protest of “Aren’t you supposed to go to class?” was half-heartedly murmured and despite the thoughts and fear cursing through his body Derek quickly fell asleep, exhaustion finally claiming his body.

×××

The classroom was so eerily silent that the only sounds you could hear were the scribbling of pens on the worksheets, rustling of paper and the awkward cough once in a while (suddenly so much more amplified although the room was full of people as opposed to a completely empty room where the soundwaves can travel freely, thrown up and back against the walls, echoing) and Stiles hated it. Because the only thing that was louder than that background noise was his mind and damn, if it _wasn’t_ loud and distracting. Stiles was tapping his pen nervously onto his desk, earning him an annoyed glance from his seat neighbour. Completely oblivious to that Stiles stared blankly onto his paper, unable to concentrate on the task at hand. His mind was reeling and it was loud and distracting and _visual_.

One part of Stiles, a big part, was worrying about the Alpha Pack. A thing that, sure, had been particularly persistent at the back of his mind for a while now. But the other thing was that, _holy shit_ – now the Alpha Pack was actually here! And they had taken action and were wanting to take more action. Death-certain action. And here they were, Scott and him and Lydia, and Isaac, and even Derek (once again, trespassing on _school_ grounds)! At school, sitting in class, supposed to concentrate on school work. Hello? Stiles was way too distracted picturing the possible out comings of the approaching night, calculating their probability of defeat. It made his stomach turn and the more he thought about it the worse it got, because damn, waiting was _the worst_.

 Apart from that Stiles worried about … what was he worrying about?

What the fuck?

Ah, right.

The fuck.

Though you couldn’t really call it a fuck, could you, since no actual fucking had been involved, right? They hadn’t even managed to get out of their clothes during the act. Although Stiles remembered distinctive nakedness this morning and – wow.

They’d actually done … something. Something definitely more than that awkward kissing experiment that had occurred that one boring summer break day, when they’d been thirteen.

Something nice, something enjoyable, something definitely recommended for several repetitions in several different positions … He never had expected this, not really, not after Scott had been so over the moon for Allison and just –

“Oh man, I can’t do this!” Stiles groaned out aloud and the whole class turned their heads to stare at him.

“I am sorry, Mister Stilinski,” the teacher spoke up drily, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Should I go looking for a colouring book in the teacher’s longue of the primary school?”

Stiles gaped at her before he shook his head, brows raised in amazement. “Really? You’d drive there just for me, Misses Rupelt?” He pressed his hands against his chest. “I am touched!”

Misses Rupelt just snorted and tilted her head, “Get back to work, Stilinski.”

Stiles was about to answer but he got interrupted by a gleaming Scott, “Misses Rupelt! Is there another sheet? Because … I am done.”

It was eerily silent in the classroom, while some students exchanged some not so very inconspicuous glances and Misses Rupelt actually sat up in her chair. “Mister McCall? If this isn’t a pleasant surprise. Have you two swapped roles?” But her small smile was genuine.

Had they swapped roles, indeed. Stiles sank deeper into his chair, rubbing a slightly frustrated palm over the side of his face.

×××

At lunch time Lydia tried to stick her head into the PE storage room but the door was jammed. Of course. She huffed and whirled her red hair from side to side checking if she was alone. Then she set down the bag she’d been carrying and stepped up to the door, whamming the side of her upper body into the door in a sudden motion while simultaneously turning the door knob. It didn’t quite do the trick.

Lydia furiously frowned at the offending piece of wood while rubbing her shoulder. She could hear movement behind the door, Derek cursing and then the door was being ripped open, red eyes gleaming and clawed arms outstretched, inches from Lydia’s cheek. She blinked up at Derek.

“I brought you food.”

×××

The day passed in a blur. Soon the final bell rang and the school compounds were being emptied by the student body that had populated them during the morning and afternoon. Soon, they were the only ones left, except for some teachers grading tests or preparing future lessons in their respective offices or some empty class rooms. But soon, they’d be the only ones left in the building. And that’s what they were waiting for.

Stiles and Scott were strolling through the estate, careful not to be caught by any leftover teachers and thrown out of the school. Without meaning to Stiles broke their comfortable silence.

 “We engaged in sexual intimacy.”

Scott didn’t hesitate in answering. “Why are you using such formal words, Stiles?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because it feels less real and having-to-be-dealt-with when I talk about it like that.”

Scott stopped in his tracks, “Do you – do you want it to be _not_ real?”

Stiles turned around, scandalized. “Eh, no – no, no, no! That’s not what I meant! It was absolutely amazing, worth repeatable –“

Somehow Scott had managed to lead them into a completely abandoned hallway and Stiles now found himself being crowded back up against the wall by his best friend in the blink of an eye.

“So,” Scott’s voice was husky. He’d whispered lowly directly into Stiles’ ear who let out a quiet noise as his heart began thundering a drum concert in his chest. Scott chuckled, his hands digging possessively but gently into Stiles’ waist, efficiently pressing their fronts together. Stiles shuddered at the breath grazing the sensitive patch of skin beneath his ear.

Scott murmured, “The repetition is a realistic option?”

“Aaah,” Stiles tried to wriggle himself out of Scott’s surprisingly – well, okay, not _very_ surprisingly, strong grip (werewolf powers, hello?), “a-are you still moonstruck?”

“No,” Scott mumbled distractedly, nosing his way along Stiles’ jawline until they both were fully facing each other. Their breaths were mingling and Stiles felt something akin to an electric shock cursing through his body as he anticipated the kiss. And just a few seconds later Scott dove in, pressing their warm lips against each other carefully. Stiles’ hands that had been trying to pry Scott’s paws of his body gripped the young McCall’s biceps tighter. Their lips parted and although it had been nothing but an innocent pressing of lips against lips that smacking sound filled the air between them and it sliced through Stiles as if it had been thunder. Scott leant his head back slightly, opening his eyes and staring back into the maple syrup coloured orbs that held Stiles’ slightly alarmed gaze. But whatever Scott read in them seemed to reassure him to bend forward again, for a second meeting of mouths and Stiles was _all_ for it. Now there was more moving, pressing and smacking. Stiles was fumbling, knocking his head against the frame of the pinboard on the wall, while trying to climb Scott like a tree, almost literally. Scott’s hands were there instantly, supporting Stiles under his thighs.

“Stiles,” Scott groaned out urgently. Stiles had his arms hooked behind Scott’s shoulders, breathing erratic; their noses clashed a bit but they didn’t really mind, Stiles burrowing deeper into his best friend’s embrace, holding on to him frantically. Scott pressed him up against the wall and rightened Stiles’ position where he had wrapped his legs around Scott’s thighs up to his waist. Stiles hissed “ _Shit!_ ” when strong digits teased him by squeezing the flesh of his buttocks but was interrupted by a warm and wet tongue sliding along his lips and poking its tip into the corner of his mouth.

They hadn’t really heard the footsteps approaching them until it was too late. When Scott registered the soft “Oh” he jumped backwards as if stung by a wasp, the smacking sound of their mouths disconnecting this time sounding wrong and embarrassingly disgusting in Stiles’ ears. Scott had simultaneously let go of Stiles who – having lost his pillar of support – just kind of awkwardly slid down the wall almost losing balance completely and falling onto his butt.

“Wow, this is,” Stiles blinked over to the person who’d successfully interrupted their impromptu make out session.

“Unexpected,” Lydia finished his sentence and her lips twitched as she scrutinized the picture offered to her, eyes glazed over with fascination. Her brows were raised high as she just quietly took in Scott and Stiles’ flabbergasted expressions.

“Boys,” she finally stated, “I think we have more _urgent_ matters to attend to. No judgement.” She lifted her hands in an exaggerated motion and turned to stalk back the way she’d come from. Her laughter sounded through the empty hallway, bell-like and absolutely malicious.

“Wow, this is,” Stiles repeated, finally straightening from his hunched up position.

“I know,” Scott chimed in, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “We should –“

“Get going, yes,” and with that they hurried after her, their hands awkwardly colliding from time to time as they went side by side.

×××

 

>  “Well,” Peter stated slowly, tilting his head to the side slowly and assessing their situation. “I must admit, I certainly did not expect this.”
> 
> “And I,” repeated the muscled stranger whose general appearance had Jackson gulping, “didn’t expect to actually find you alive.”
> 
> Peter shrugged his shoulders in a short, sassy motion, spreading his arms. “Yet here you are.”
> 
> “There are rumours,” the stranger continued. Jackson looked around carefully. He didn’t like this one bit. He’d rather bail out right about now –
> 
> But there was Peter’s hand, crawling along his spine and then wrapping around his wrist. Peter’s eyes were focused on the man blocking their exit to the door, and his voice was calm and composed as he spoke, “Seeing you I wouldn’t have taken you for a busybody. But since you brought it up: I too, have heard rumours.”
> 
> “I am not here for small talk,” the man growled and cracked his knuckles.
> 
> “I suspected as much,” Peter replied easily. “I guess an alpha who’s gone and obliterated his whole pack must’ve more pressing matters at hand.”
> 
> Jackson’s head turned his head to Peter to stare at him with wide, frightened eyes.
> 
> “I guess an ex-alpha who’s killed his own niece must have more pressing matters at hand, too. Although, you seem to have settled the matter of being killed off by your own nephew, so I wonder what it could be that makes you play run and hide with a newborn pup in tow.”
> 
> Peter stayed silent before he rolled his eyes. “You’re surprisingly well-informed. I didn’t expect you to come alone though,” he licked his lips and turned to look out the window, drawn curtains obstructing his view. “Or didn’t you?”
> 
> “I’ve come alone,” the man returned.
> 
> Peter’s mouth formed a little, mock-surprised o-shape. “So, what do you want?”
> 
> “ _Justice_ ,” Ennis growled.

×××

Lydia was not hiding her mirth when Stiles and Scott entered the classroom. Derek didn’t even bother to look up from what he was studying in his lap and Isaac at least nodded his head and gave them a friendly though tired smile.

“Unbelievable!” Lydia called out. “I’m still not quite sure if I should be offended.”

“Offended? _You?_ ” Stiles returned scandalized before it clicked and he waved his arms anxiously. “Lyds! Shut up!”

“Oh, please,” Lydia snorted and nestled herself onto a table, rummaging in a little purse she’d taken out of her handbag earlier, "Don’t tell me everybody _doesn’t_ know yet.” She pulled a hairband onto her wrist and started to French-braid her hair neatly.

“You _stink_ after each other,” Derek commented from his seat perched near a window not lifting his gaze. “Not that I particularly _care._ ”

“When I came to visit at night, you were sleeping in bed together,” Isaac added in helpfully.

“That – that is not –“ Scott stuttered.

“How can _they_ know,” Stiles groaned out frustratedly, “when _we_ don’t even know?!”

“It’s official now,” Lydia finished off her braid and tugged the hairband in place.

“It’s not! I do not approve of this, this is moving too fast –“

“It happens,” Lydia returned surprisingly motherly.

Derek’s jaw twitched but everyone’s attention was on the dorks flailing in their middle.

“Scott!” Stiles turned for help to his friend.

“Stiles,” Scott returned and frowned while smiling in a slightly off manner.

“ _Teenagers_ ,” Derek groaned exasperatedly.

×××

 

>  “Deucalion’s insane _and_ getting impatient. He knows Derek Hale is not guilty but he’s going to kill him either way. He wants to absorb his powers. We’ve rose above the betas but if we do not respect other alphas and our rules, what instance is left there to guide us? To stop him? He’s a crazy motherfucker,” Ennis paused only for a second, his gaze dark, “We don’t kill the innocent.”
> 
> “What about your betas?” Jackson asked in a sudden surge of bravery. “Weren’t they innocent?”
> 
> Ennis dark gaze rested on him and he didn’t answer. Jackson refused to break their eye contact.
> 
> “What role do I play in this game?” Peter chirped, disinterest apparent in his voice.
> 
> “The one of your choosing. You are one cunning bastard, Peter Hale. I count on your abilities. But if you choose wrong …” Ennis lifted his fist, opened it and claws grew out of his fingertips. “I will end you.”
> 
> Peter sighed and tapped his fingers on his thighs. “You are laying down some compelling arguments, Ennis,” he tilted his head with a cheap, crooked smile, “I would’ve wished for more _originality_ though.”

×××

 “Is it like … an unwritten Beacon Hill’s rule of the supernatural to start all the dubious activities _at night?_ ” Stiles inquired miserably and sniffed.

“Yes, it is written in the book of Unwritten Rules of Supernaturality, right underneath that human sidekicks are to be avoided and that all werewolves are recommended to wear leather,” Derek deadpanned. “Scott obviously never got that memo.”

Everyone was like frozen to pillars of salt for a moment.

“Did you actually just make a joke?”

“Are you telling me to wear leather?”

“A really bad joke, but a joke whatsoever?”

“I don’t think I own any leather jackets.”

“What is happening – _wait_.”

“I am not joining your leather-loving jock club, Derek. Forget it!”

“Hey!” Isaac called out, offended.

“Wait! Did you just offend me? _Me_ , the very essential and high quality asset to this team?”

“I can’t believe any of you, seriously,” Lydia sighed.

“I can’t believe …” Stiles had a comment about their bantering on the tip of his tongue, something along the lines of ‘I can’t believe how we’ve been sitting here chattering so innocently waiting towards our certain doom’ but he forced it back down his throat. The easy-going teasing that they had had going on all day had visibly loosened the tension and eased the strained waiting. Stiles found it was still a way better option than sitting around not saying a word and brooding over what was to come. It was a welcome distraction.

“You can’t believe what, Stiles?” Scott pulled Stiles out of the mist of his thoughts and his friend cocked his head.

“I can’t believe you’re refusing to wear leather –“

Derek groaned loudly and Isaac started to right out giggle –  which went perfectly well with his Adonis face and angelic curls by the way –

“You want to see me in leather?” Scott’s eyes grew big.

“Oh god, _Scott!_ ” Stiles hid his furiously burning face in his palms. “I was talking about a jacket, _a jacket,_ Jesus fucking Christ!”

“I was talking about a jacket, too,” Scott replied but Stiles’ really couldn’t make out his facial expression (since he was still burying his own face in his hands) and from his voice he couldn’t really pinpoint if Scott was being serious or just jollying. The others at least were fairly amused at his expense. Stiles grumbled. “It’s night, it’s dark. I hate school. And I especially hate school at night, in the dark!”

Something crashed loudly outside and everyone flinched.

Derek had grown serious; he was up on his feet and by the door in the flash of a second. “That’s our cue.”

“I hate cues,” Stiles whined half-heartedly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Derek nodded his head meaningfully, his eyes blazing. His voice was suddenly throaty, “Guys, let’s go.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooooorry for the long wait! The whole Au Pair thing is kind of draining me, I can tell you. And -
> 
> I am actually on holiday in Portugal with my hostfamily, chasing little children around pools all day (exhausting!!). Right now I am lying by the pool (they have only weak wifi over here) stealing a few minutes of peace and I can tell you, proofreading outside when it's this sunny is _no_ fun! But I've been sitting on this chapter for so long and I thought, time to finally post this baby! A holiday treat! 
> 
> Talk soon xx
> 
> ps. unbeta'ed.


End file.
